


Unexpected

by everytimeyougo



Category: The Good Wife (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Unplanned Pregnancy, i know i'm surprised too, post-3x18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-03-26 14:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 42,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13859439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everytimeyougo/pseuds/everytimeyougo
Summary: "Kurt, women my age usually have to pay doctors a lot of money to get them pregnant. I don’t think we have anything to worry about." Mchart AU after 3x18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is the result of an anonymous Tumblr prompt that said "Kurt, I'm pregnant." I was supposed to answer with five sentences. 
> 
> Oops?
> 
> What you need to know - up to 3x18, this is AU only in that Diane is about 15 years younger than she's supposed to be. Everything else is the same, including Kurt's age. Obviously, we go wildly AU from there.

Diane lies diagonally across her neatly made bed, arms angled away from her body, hands grasping the comforter on either side of her so tightly her fingers ache. Every so often her eyes roll over to the side, as if drawn by some magnetic force, to the bathroom where a ticking time bomb awaits.

Her phone alarm sounds, clattering insistently against the marble counter.

She wants to throw up.

Rolling up into a seated position she collapses over on herself and draws in a shaky breath. She needs to get up and go look. Delaying won’t accomplish anything, except perhaps, if the literature in the box is to be believed, rendering the test results unreliable, and the very last thing she needs is a reason to doubt them, no matter what answer they provide.

Before she can think about it any longer, she stands and strides into the bathroom like it’s a courtroom, picks up the test and reads it.

 _Pregnant_.

The plastic stick tumbles to the floor.

 

* * *

 

_Six weeks earlier_

_As it turns out, he has missed her too, quite emphatically so, and they proceed to go to great and passionate lengths to prove it to one another._

_Much later, Kurt emerges from the bathroom, looking enticingly mussed, but just a little pale. "Ah, I think maybe we were a little too energetic for that condom." He makes a small explosive gesture with his hands in demonstration. "Are you...” he pauses, looking chagrined. “I mean, can you still..."_

_His voice trails off awkwardly and she realizes with a start that he's asking if she's still fertile. A sudden frisson of fear teases the base of her spine. She went off birth control a while ago after a long spell of celibacy. The risks had seemed to outweigh the benefits and, hurt and confused when he hadn’t contacted her after an out-of-town case, she hadn’t planned on needing it again._

_But surely not. Good lord, she’s forty-five years old; what are the odds? She laughs, pushing any lingering concern aside. "Technically, I suppose. I still have cycles but they aren't exactly regular. Kurt, women my age usually have to pay doctors a lot of money to get them pregnant. I don’t think we have anything to worry about. Come here._

_He chuckles and pulls back the covers, sliding back into bed beside her. "Good. I was worried there for a second. God, can you imagine having a baby at our ages?"_

_She snuggles up to him and before too long the ridiculous thought is completely gone from her mind._

 

* * *

 

It's a very good thing she doesn't have court today, Diane decides, as she realizes she's read the same part of the brief in front of her for the third time without absorbing any of it. She exhales forcefully, fluttering the edges of her bangs - _talk about incompetent representation._  Clearly there’s no way she's going to get any work done before her doctor's appointment in an hour. Giving up, she closes the folder and gives in to the compulsion she’s been fighting all morning.

Bringing up Chumhum on her laptop, she glances around to make sure no one is about to enter her office, then quickly types in ‘pregnancy over forty’ and hits the enter key, leaning in close to the screen.

The resulting links are a mixed bag of dire warnings about the increased risk of complications, fluffy mom-blog posts, and caveats regarding the odds against it happening in the first place, even for those who are trying. She smirks in spite of herself; she always has been something of an overachiever.

But her momentary amusement quickly fades, replaced by a low buzz of dread deep in her belly as she considers some of the other links. Birth defects, Down Syndrome, prematurity, increased risk of miscarriage - all terrifying possibilities, all strongly linked to advanced maternal age.

She’s halfway through the first alarming article when it occurs to her - all of this only matters if she’s going to go through with it. And she doesn’t have to. She doesn’t have to do this at all.

She pulls off her glasses and tosses them on the desk, leaning back in her chair. On the face of it, the very idea of her with a baby is ludicrous. She's too old, too busy, and her relationship with Kurt, if one could even call it that, is too fraught with opposing philosophies on virtually every subject. How could she possibly raise a child with a man who would want it on the gun range from the time it could walk?

And that’s assuming he would even want to take a hand in raising the child. She hasn’t heard from him, once again, since she had to cancel their fishing date, and he had found the idea of a baby at their ages laughable that night. She might be doing this completely alone and how could she possibly manage that? She works all the damned time, ridiculous hours, almost never gets a entire day off. She would have to tell Will she was taking a step back from the firm, at least for a few months, and oh good lord how David Lee would gloat.

Sitting up again, she rests her elbow on the desk, and her forehead against her hand, shaking her head slowly back and forth. This is all just so _embarrassing_ , something that would happen to a drunk, irresponsible college girl, not a middle-aged lawyer who drives a sedate black Cadillac and volunteers for Emily’s List.

And, another horrible thought occurs to her, thank god a case had blown up on her that weekend so she had to cancel her date with Jack, along with fishing with Kurt. She can't imagine why she made another date with a man who had stood her up once already, but if she hadn’t and she had slept with him too...This situation is bad enough without adding uncertain paternity to the mix.

Sighing she lifts her head. _For god’s sake, Diane, you really are acting like that college girl. You can’t base a decision like this on the potential for embarrassment. Approach it logically._

Twenty minutes later and glasses back on, she's flitting from link to link, her chest growing increasingly tight from anxiety when someone knocks sharply on her door frame. Slamming her laptop shut, she looks up to find Kalinda watching her curiously.

"Porn?" the investigator asks, smirking. “Must have been good stuff. I’ve been standing here for five minutes.”

"No!" Diane exclaims, then quickly decides that’s actually less mortifying than reality, and changes her tune. “I mean yes. Porn. For a case."

Kalinda’s eyes narrow. "What case?"

“A new one. I’m still deciding if I’m going to take it.” She glances at her watch, then stands. “I have to go; I have an appointment outside the office.”

Kalinda shrugs. “Okay, well let me know if you need any help with that case.”

“Thanks, but I think I’m on my own with this one.”

 

* * *

 

"Okay," says the white-haired bespectacled doctor as he enters the small exam room, flipping through test results on a worn wooden clipboard. He stops in the middle of the room and looks down at her sitting in a chair next to the exam table. "Congratulations, Ms Lockhart. You are indeed pregnant."

She groans. Until that moment she had been holding out vain hope that the home test had somehow been wrong.

Ignoring, or perhaps not even noticing her lacklustre response, Dr. Harris continues to speak. "I have reams of information for you on geriatric pregnancy, but..."

"Geriatric!" Diane exclaims, jaw dropping.

"Sorry, sorry, we’re not supposed to call it that anymore, but old dog, new tricks.” He waves a hand in apology. “In any case, pregnancy after a maternal age of thirty-five carries with it its own set of problems that can't be glossed over. There are increased risks of birth defects, genetic abnormalities, miscarriage, and a whole host of elevated maternal risks, up to and including death. And not to put too fine a point on it, but you are well past thirty-five."

Nothing he is saying is news to her, but she must look as pale as she feels, because his expression softens. "I'm not trying to scare you Ms. Lockhart. But these are the realities you need to face."

She nods. "I understand. You're just giving me the facts. And I appreciate it, but it isn't necessary, at least not yet. I’m not even sure I want to continue with this pregnancy."

She watches his face carefully, but the judgement that she expects never comes.

“All right. You’re only about six or seven weeks along, so you’ve got some time to decide. One of my colleagues here in the practice provides termination services. If you would like to make an an appointment with her, she could probably see you in about a week’s time. That would give you an opportunity to think things through. We also have a counselor on staff, if you think that might be helpful.

She politely but firmly declines the offer of counselling, and goes home with a small white appointment card in her purse. One week. She has one week and one _hell_ of a fork in her road.

Left? Or right?

 

* * *

 

People tend to assume she didn’t want children, that she was so completely consumed by her work life that she had no interest in a personal life. Those people are mistaken; she wanted it, wanted it so much, but it just had never happened for her. Oh she tried, off and on, dated other lawyers, men she met through her charity work, even had a couple of relationships that seemed on the verge of turning into something long term, before she found out the man wasn’t quite as committed as she hoped.

Eventually, she gave up, tried to content herself with her work and soothe her maternal longings with the idea that the work she was doing would help many children, not just one or two. Sometimes that helped. Other times, buried under reams of paperwork that would help no one but rich men who wanted to be richer, she knew she was kidding herself.

When she had been about to turn forty, she considered doing it on her own, just picking some good genetic material from a catalogue and going it alone. After all, millions of kids grew up in single parent homes and did just fine. There could be pitfalls, sure, but she had enough money to avoid a lot of them.

But then she spent a day with her college friends and their daughter, her goddaughter, and after watching Henry, Lenore, and Maia together, seeing how much that girl loved her daddy, and how much joy her parents, together, got from their daughter, she knew she couldn’t do it. Not to her child, and honestly, not to herself. She put the idea aside again, not without some tears, but reassuring herself it still wasn’t too late, not quite yet, even though, deep down, she was pretty sure it was.

The week before her next appointment goes by quickly. She’s busy, always busy, and when she’s in meetings, or court, or running from place to place, she almost manages to forget. It’s only when she’s at home, alone, at night, that she can think of nothing else.

Sometimes her imagination conjures little girl with blue eyes and blonde pigtails, other times a dark-eyed boy with his father's lopsided grin. She thinks about nursing a baby in a darkened room with Brahms playing quietly in the background. She dreams of little league games and homecoming dances, tea parties and high school graduations, career days and trips to the beach.

But she can’t stop herself from thinking about the difficult parts too - long sleepless nights with a sick baby when she has court in the morning, the struggle of finding good childcare. How she would manage a child with disabilities. How the child would have to cope with losing his or her parents at a relatively young age. Other things, so many things, that she just doesn’t have the experience to anticipate.

And always in the back of her mind, tinged with guilt and uncertainty, are thoughts of Kurt. When she's being honest with herself, she knows her musings haven’t always been fair to him. They may never find a way clear to having a relationship themselves, but he wouldn’t abandon his child; that’s not the kind of man he is. And that comment about a baby at their age, the one she had first characterized as scornful could have instead been perhaps a little bit wistful.

She envisions Kurt and the same little pigtailed girl, standing by a stream with a fishing pole taller than she is. With that same grinning boy, tossing a ball back and forth behind the barn.

She knows if she chooses to abort, that will be the end of them for good. It’s her body and her choice; she knows this with the entirety of her being, and she alone will make that choice. But one of the very first things she learned about him were his staunchly pro-life beliefs and there is absolutely no benefit to putting him in a situation where he has none of the control and all of the pain. She would never be able to face him afterwards, talk to him, make love to him, knowing he would never choose to be with her if he knew the truth. She alone will make her choice, and she alone will live with the consequences.

 

* * *

 

The dawn of the day of her appointment brings with it no sense of relief, only dread churning low in her belly. She has cleared her schedule, told the office she won’t be in until after the weekend. That it’s pouring rain seems appropriate.

She showers and dresses as if she’s going to court. Tailored black suit, heels and a statement necklace - it’s her version of armour, and normally it works like magic to add steel to her spine under difficult circumstances. This time, alone in her own home, and uncertain in a way she rarely is in her professional life,  it just makes her feel ridiculous. She changes again, this time into worn jeans and an oversized sweater.

Her stomach is rolling, from nerves or morning sickness, she couldn’t say, but the results are the same. She makes a cup of ginger tea, puts a handful of soda crackers on a plate and takes them both to the living room where she sets them on the coffee table next to her phone. Settling into the corner of couch, feet up, her arm automatically curls over her abdomen.

The obvious answer is that if she’s this torn, still, she shouldn’t go through with it. She knows this, and truth be told she has known it all along. But simply eliminating the root cause of all her worry is such an attractive option that, for all she knows it’s not what she wants, she hasn’t been able to make the final call.

What she really wants is a time machine, to way to go back a couple of months and avoid being this situation at all. Or better still, to be in it by choice ten years ago, with an informed and willing partner. But that’s not what termination would do for her. It’s not a do-over card that will allow her to move forward with her life unscathed. For many women it is. Women who never wanted children at all, or who will have other, better, opportunities. Neither of those are her. This, here and now, is her last chance.

She reaches over and picks up her phone.

 

* * *

 

She sits in the car on the side of the road for nigh on twenty minutes, watching the sun set over the field across the street, before she summons the courage to put the car back in gear and coast down the long driveway to his house. Just doing it, just going to his house and telling him and getting it over with had seemed like such a good idea when she left home an hour ago. It had felt almost poetic really, since it was a similar fit of spontaneity that led to the current situation in the first place.

But now, reality has set in. What if Miranda is there again? Or worse, another woman, not a student, but one with a more personal invitation. She had been tipsy enough, horny enough, that first night, that she hadn’t considered the possibility he might not be alone, but she holds no claim over Kurt McVeigh, not then and not now.

She pulls up to the house and stops beside his old gray truck. There are no other cars present, which buoys her somewhat, enough at least that she exits the car and walks up to the front door without further procrastination. Actually knocking takes a few more bracing breaths, but eventually she manages that too.

If he’s surprised to see her, he doesn’t show it, simply standing back and letting her enter.

“Hi,” she says quietly, glancing quickly into the other room, but finding no one else present.

His expression remains impassive. "Hey. This seems to be becoming a habit." The words themselves are almost teasing, but the warmth she usually finds in his eyes is missing. It makes her wary.

"I'm sorry, I should have called. Do you want me to..." she gestures to the still-open door behind her.

"Nah, come in," he says, but rather than welcoming, his tone is resigned. He reaches behind her to close the door, then disappears into the kitchen, leaving to her to deal with her own coat.

She leaves it on a chair in the entryway and wanders into the combined living and dining room where they sat the last time she was here. Again there’s a fire in the large stone fireplace, and country music plays softly on the radio. Setting her purse down on the table, she approaches a large and cluttered bookcase that sits against one wall.

Kurt returns after a moment, carrying two open bottles of beer. He hands her one and it’s not until it’s halfway to her mouth that she remembers she can’t drink it. Awkwardly she stops mid-motion, transfers it to her other hand, then sets in on a side table.

“I’ve been meaning to read this,” she says to distract him from her movements, pointing at random to a book on his shelf. “Did you enjoy it?”

“You’ve been meaning to read a Reagan biography?” he asks, laughing as he comes up behind her. It’s not a particularly pleasant sound. There’s something wrong here, something screaming at her to abort mission, but she can’t. She has to tell him, and it has to be tonight, now, while she’s here. She doesn’t trust herself to summon the courage again.

“Never mind,” he says. “You didn’t come here to talk about books.” His hands rise to grip her hips, and he presses up against her, leaning in to kiss her neck.

He’s already hard, she can feel him firmly against her backside and god it would be so much easier just to push everything else to the side and go with it. She tilts her head to the side, breath hitching as his questing mouth reaches her ear. But no. That would just be more procrastination, and it wouldn’t be fair to him. He deserves to have all the facts first and then decide if he still wants her.

“Kurt, just a minute, I...”

“Why,” he asks in between kisses. “This is why you came here isn’t it? Sex? Seems to be all you think I’m good for.” His hands slide around her abdomen as he presses even more firmly against her.

“No, you’re also good on the witness stand,” she teases without thinking, and knows immediately she’s said the wrong thing when he tenses up, then lets her go, stepping back and picking up his beer again. He’s obviously upset with her about something but she can’t for the life of her understand why. Does he somehow already know about the baby and is angry she didn’t tell him sooner? But no, that’s impossible. No one knows but her and her doctor.

“But not for companionship.” He takes a long swallow from the bottle.

She blinks. This conversation has gone so far afield from what she thought it would be that she doesn’t even know how to begin to drag it back on track. She turns to face him fully. “What? Kurt, what are you even talking about?”

“Come off it, Diane.” For the first time he allows some emotion to show on his face, and the pain is so clear in his eyes she almost wishes he hadn’t. “You show up here two months ago, telling me you missed me, we have a good night together, least I thought so. I try to make plans to spend some time together out of bed, and you cancel and I never hear from you again. What the fuck am I supposed to think?”

She stares, gapes. Starts to speak, then stops. She can’t do this. Maybe she deserves his hurt, his anger, but she can’t deal with that now. There are other things at stake here, more important things, and he needs to know it before this goes any further. She holds up her hands, gesturing for him to please listen.

“Kurt, I’m pregnant.”


	2. Chapter 2

“What?” he snaps, still tangled up in the momentum of his own anger. She can see the instant he actually processes what she has said, and never before has she seen someone literally staggered, but that is what he is. “What?” he repeats faintly, as he stumbles backward a couple of steps to sit down on the worn leather sofa. Dropping his beer to the table, he collapses over on himself, his head resting in his hands.

She remains silent, but takes a seat on the couch next to him, close enough that she can pick up the faint acrid odour of gunpowder that always seems to cling to him by the end of a day, but not close enough to be tempted to touch. This is hard enough without the confusing feelings that come along with that.

“But you said…” His voice is muffled as he speaks to the floor.

“I said it was highly unlikely, and it was.” The corners of her mouth turn up, more of a grimace than a smile. “We beat the odds.”

He makes a noise that could be either a snort or a sob. She sits quietly, back straight, examining her fingernails as she waits for him to be ready to talk. Perhaps she should leave, let him deal with whatever he’s feeling in private. They have months yet to come to an understanding of how things will be.

Just as she’s about to stand, he lifts his head.

“What are you going to do?” he asks gruffly, not quite looking at her. His hands, clasped together between spread knees are white-knuckled.

She inhales deeply. “I’m going to have a baby,” she tells him. That her voice cracks on the last word is the only hint of the potent combination of utter joy and absolute terror her own words strike within her.

His sense of relief at her answer is so strong she can feel it reaching out to her from where he sits. He turns his head away, swiping at his eyes as he mutters something that might be ‘thank you.”

She waits a moment, forcing aside her own anxiety-driven need to babble, for him to pull himself together and turn back to face her before she speaks again.

“This is...unexpected, I know.  To say the very least. And it’s a dream I gave up on a long time ago. Maybe it’s one you never had to begin with, I don’t know. But Kurt, I want this baby. More than I could have imagined. And regardless of what happens between us, regardless…” she pauses, thinking of his earlier angry reaction to her, “...of what you think of me, I want him or her to have a father.”

“They will.” He says it without hesitation, looking her straight in the eye, and while she knows he is a man of his word, she also knows he cannot possibly have grasped the weight of what he’s agreeing to. He’ll still be in shock for hours yet, if not days, if her own experience is anything to go by.

She lets it go. This is not a night for heavy conversation.

“I ah… I don’t know too much about this, but… Is it safe? You know, at your…” He winces, then gestures wordlessly in her direction.

She laughs. “At my age? You can say it. I know how old I am.”

Her amusement makes no dent in his stoicism. “Fine, yes. At your age.”

She sighs. “Not entirely safe, no. It’s considered a high risk pregnancy, both for me and the baby. There could be complications; there’s a high risk of miscarriage, birth defects. Your age apparently doesn’t help either, by the way,” she tacks on, with feigned irritation.

That, for the first time that evening, gets her something almost like a smile. It seems as good a time as any to broach the one last subject that needs addressing before she leaves. “You were upset when I got here,” she begins hesitantly.

He waves her off. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“It matters,” she tells him, quickly. She would like nothing more than to give her child a family, and she really does care about him, despite all their differences, and their seeming inability to get over themselves long enough to talk about anything properly. “But Kurt, I can’t… Whatever this is between us is…”

“Is too much to deal with right now. I get it. I agree. We have enough on our plates.” He holds a hand out and when she takes it, he squeezes gently.

She’s grateful he understands. “I’m not putting it off forever, just until I’ve gotten used to the idea of...all of this. We will talk, I promise.”

“Okay,” he agrees quietly, releasing her hand. She smiles wanly, suddenly both physically and emotionally exhausted. “I should go now.”

If she was worried he would try to stop her, it was for naught. Perhaps he’s as worn out as she is. He just stands and silently walks with her to the front door, then helps her into her coat.

“Call me if you need anything,” he tells her as he pulls open the front door. “I mean it. Anything. I’m going to be there for you, Diane.”

“I know. I will,” she promises, patting his arm lightly.

Only when she’s about to cross the threshold, does he speak again. “If you were… if you weren’t keeping it, you wouldn’t have told me.” It’s not a question.

She smiles sadly. “You would never have seen me again.”

He inclines his head, a small gesture of acknowledgment, if not understanding, and she pulls the door closed behind her.

* * *

Having finally made her choice and gotten everything out in the open with Kurt, Diane’s ability to concentrate on work returns, and the next several days fly by in a flurry of meetings, court appearances, and the type of minor catastrophe she thrives on until finally she finds herself at the beginning of what promises to be a quiet day, professionally-speaking.

As relieved as she is to have gotten her anxiety levels back under control, she supposes that’s likely to change when she sees Dr. Harris later that day for her first official prenatal appointment. She has avoided any more stress-inducing internet research but she already has the impression that the old school OB is not going to let her bury her head in the sand about anything that could potentially go wrong. It will be much harder to not worry when she understands more clearly precisely what she should be worrying about.

She hasn’t talked to Kurt since leaving his place almost a week earlier, only sending him a quick text with the date and time of her appointment and receiving back a terse offer to pick her up and accompany her, which she accepted.

With effort, she has tamed her nerves about the appointment by immersing herself in research for a motion she’s arguing the following day, and it’s a moment before she registers she’s no longer alone. Looking up, she discovers Will slouching in the chair opposite her.

“Hello,” she greets him.

“Hey.”

When he doesn’t say anything else, she raises an eyebrow and returns to her work.

A few minutes later a loud sigh disrupts her train of thought. She closes her laptop, removes her eyeglasses and gives her partner her full attention. “Is something wrong?”

“This sucks.”

“Oh? And what is _this_?” As if they haven’t had this exact conversation already, more times than she cares to recall. She’s tempted to record her side of it so she can simply press play and get back to work.

“This. Suspension. Not being able to properly represent my clients.”

She sighs. “Your clients are being properly represented. Your partners and associates are good at what they do, even if what they do isn’t always what you would do.” She recites the words by rote, all the while debating whether this is the right time to tell him that shortly after he comes off suspension, she’s going to be taking maternity leave. And that’s if they’re lucky and she avoids any complications that put her off early. The possibility of having to leave before he’s fully back is one of many things currently keeping her up at night.

But, as she has every other time she’s had this discussion with herself, she concludes the best option is to wait until after her appointment when she knows a little more about the odds of that herself.

Will is still talking, and she is still answering in what she hopes is a reassuring tone while her mind wanders, when an unexpected combination of words snaps her fully back into the conversation.

“A meeting? Today? No, Will, I can’t. We’ll have to push it to tomorrow; I have another appointment this afternoon.”

He comes half out of his seat in indignation. “What? This has been on the calendar for a week, Diane. It’s too late to postpone. Other people have schedules too, and we need to deal with the situation.”

Frowning, she reopens her laptop and brings up her calendar. Sure enough, there is a meeting of the finance committee scheduled at precisely the same time as her doctor’s appointment. How had she missed that?

“You’re just going to have to cancel your other thing,” Will demands. “This is too important.”

“No, Will, I’m sorry, I can’t do that. My other thing is important too.”

Will doesn’t bother to hide his frustration, snorting and slumping back in his seat.

That _ass_ , Diane thinks. Has he no idea how much extra work this suspension has caused her? In just the time she’s had to spend fending off the piranhas after his spot on the letterhead, they could have held a dozen finance meetings. Tamping down on her anger, she says, “This is about the changes to the intellectual property division, right? You know my position on the issue, Will. We’re stretched thin enough; we can’t afford it. Argue my position.”

“What if I don’t agree with your position?”

“I don’t care. You owe me.”

He stares at her for a moment. “Fine.” He stands, shoving his chair back with more force than necessary and leaves the room.

* * *

“Ready?” Kurt asks from her open office door.

Damn. She glances over into Will’s office, but luckily he isn’t present. The last thing she needs is for him to decide that she’s blowing off a committee meeting for what he would assume was a date. She had meant to meet Kurt in the lobby, but it seems time has gotten away from her.

“Yes,” she says, slamming her laptop closed and rolling backwards in her chair. “Let’s go.” If she’s lucky, they can be gone before Will comes back from wherever he is.

He smiles at her seeming eagerness, but stays silent as she grabs her purse and coat and rushes out the door, leaving him to follow in her wake.

They walk the short distance to reception where Diane quickly jabs the button to summon the elevator, then steps back, tapping her fingers together in agitation.

“You’re nervous,” Kurt observes.

“A little,” she admits, glancing beyond him to the receptionist who is trying very hard to appear like she can’t hear them.

The elevator dings and the doors start to open. Diane very nearly curses aloud as Will and Kalinda come slowly into view.

“Miss Sharma,” Kurt greets them as they step out. “Gardner.”

“McVeigh,” Will says flatly, before turning to Diane. “Your important appointment is with him?” he asks incredulously, jerking a thumb in Kurt’s direction.

“Yes,” she says cooly. “He’s doing some ballistics work for me.”

“Oh, on your pornography case?” Kalinda interjects, looking askance at the sudden tension between her bosses.

“What? Oh. Yes,” Diane says, almost shoving Kurt into the elevator.

“Pornography?” she can hear Will ask as the steel doors slide closed.

She grits her teeth as the elevator starts its descent, and Kurt reaches out and rubs her back lightly. “Diane, you can’t let him get to you like that. It’s not good for you.”

She shakes her head. “I know. I _know_. He’ll be easier on me after I tell him.” At least she hopes he will.

Kurt nods, then suddenly drops his hand and steps back, giving her a strange look 

“What?” she asks warily.

“Your cover story for our _baby_ is _pornography_?”

* * *

After getting Diane’s blood and urine samples and weighing and measuring her, the nurse shows them to the exam room. “Dr. Harris will be here in a moment. You can just get changed and hop up on the table. There’s a sheet you can cover up with.” The woman smiles and closes the door, leaving them alone in the room.

Kurt takes one look at the blue exam robe folded neatly on the table and starts for the door. “Yell when I can come back in,” he says, reaching for the doorknob.

She laughs. “Kurt, you don’t have to leave. You’ve already seen everything I have to offer.”

“Exactly why I should leave.” He smirks. “Not a good time for those particular memories.”

She rolls her eyes. “Just turn around.”

He does so, reading a poster on fetal development on the far wall as Diane quickly changes and settles herself on the exam table with the sheet covering everything the ill-fitting robe does not.

Immediately thereafter, as if by some form of ESP, the doctor knocks and enters the small room.

“Good afternoon, Ms Lockhart. Oh, and friend,” he adds, spying Kurt in the corner. He extends a hand.

“Dr. Harris, this is Kurt McVeigh,” Diane introduces.  “My… ah... the father.”

The doctor grins. “Well now, you’re no spring chicken either, are you? How’s your ticker?”

Kurt snorts and reaches out to shake the other man’s hand. “It just withstood a hell of a shock, so I guess not too bad.”

“Good, you’ll need it. This process isn’t for the faint-of.”

He gestures for Kurt to take a seat, then approaches Diane, speaking to both of them as he goes about his examination. “We’re going to see a lot of each other for the next little while. I’ll want you in here every four weeks to start. That will increase to every two weeks for weeks twenty-eight to thirty-six, then weekly until the end. That’s assuming everything goes smoothly; if we encounter complications, all bets are off. We’ll also have to schedule a few appointments with a perinatologist - that’s a maternal-fetal specialist - for some specialized testing. I’ll explain everything as it approaches rather than loading you down with too much information at once. Today we’re just going to do the same basic first appointment everyone gets - I trust my nurse already got your blood and urine samples; we’ll send them off the lab and follow up by phone.” He pauses to listen to her heart, then loops his stethoscope back around his neck. “Any questions so far?”

Diane knows she’ll have a million of them as soon as she leaves the office, but at the moment she can only shake her head. Kurt look similarly overwhelmed.

“Don’t worry,” Dr. Harris continues, reading their expressions. “There’s time. Make a list to ask next time, or if you think of something urgent, give the office a call. “For now, let’s get to it. Ms Lockhart, can you please lay down and put your feet in the stirrups?”

As intimately acquainted as they are about to become, Diane supposes he could call her by her first name, but she finds she rather appreciates the formality. It adds a measure of distance to an otherwise uncomfortably personal dynamic.

The doctor performs the internal exam silently and efficiently, then tells Diane she can remove her feet from the stirrups. “But please remain supine for just a moment longer.” He crosses the room and retrieves another device that resembles a small radio with a wand-like attachment on a curly cord and holds it up for them to see.

“This is called a Doppler. It’s for listening to baby’s heartbeat.”

Diane gasps and her hand flies up to cover her mouth. She turns look at Kurt and they exchange tentative grins.

“Now, don’t go getting too excited on me,” the doctor warns them. “It’s almost certainly too early to hear anything. How far along do you think you are?”

“Eight, almost nine weeks,” Diane tells him, without hesitation, as Kurt bobs his head in agreement.

“You sound pretty sure about that, and my estimate, based your exam and hormone levels, is about the same, so it’s a long shot. We normally don’t start to hear anything before ten weeks. But, what the hell, let’s give it a shot.”

As the doctor turns on the machine, Diane reaches her hand out to Kurt, wiggling her fingers for him to come closer. He does, taking her hand in both of his as the doctor presses the little wand against her skin a few inches below her navel, and glides it around.

After a few moments, it’s clear they aren’t going to hear anything, and despite the doctor’s warning, Diane feels tears pricking at the back of her eyes. She blinks them away rapidly, but not before Kurt notices. He squeezes her hand reassuringly and glides his fingers back and forth across her knuckles.

The doctor turns off the machine. “As I said, this is perfectly normal and expected,” he reiterates as Kurt helps her to sit up. She doesn’t really need the assistance, but also doesn’t want to let go of the stabilizing anchor his hand provides just yet.

“I’m going to refer you for an early ultrasound,” the doctor continues, picking up her chart and scribbling notes as he speaks. “It’s standard for high risk situations, and the good news is, you won’t have to wait another four weeks to hear that heartbeat because the ultrasound can pick it up much earlier than my little jigger can. He sets the chart aside and scribbles down a note on a prescription pad. “You’ll need some prenatal vitamins. Something with folic acid. I usually recommend this brand.” He passes over the note. “How are you feeling generally? Tired, nauseated?”

“Both of those, yes,” Diane admits. “But nothing I can’t manage.”

The doctor picks up the chart again and makes another note. “If the nausea gets too bad, we can medicate, so don’t be too stoic about it. Any final questions?”

“She’s a lawyer and is under stupid amounts of stress. How bad is that?” Kurt asks.

“Well, it’s not good,” the doctor says bluntly, setting the chart down again. “I would suggest doing whatever you need to do to reduce it.” He pauses, then adds, “Becoming a parent has a way of adjusting one’s priorities. You know your situation better than I do, but this might be a good time to start.”

* * *

"Thank you," Diane says, hand on the truck’s door handle, "for the drive. And for coming with me.” She simply couldn’t bear the idea of returning to the office, so she’d asked him to drop her directly home.

He inclines his head. "I wouldn’t be anywhere else, you know that. But now you don't have your car. I'll come back and get you in the morning and drive you to work," he tells her, hand tapping against the steering wheel.

Her eyes widen. Her place is a forty minute drive for him at the best of times, and it expands to nearly two hours during rush hour. "What? Good god no, don't be silly. I'll take a taxi. Or walk; it's supposed to be nice and the exercise would probably do me good."

It’s on the tip of her tongue to suggest he could just stay, if he wanted, take her spare room even, anything to keep up this easy camaraderie they’ve enjoyed since he picked her up. It’s so reassuring to know she’s not in this alone, that he’ll be there share the joy, and the worry, to whatever extent he can.

But that’s not a good idea. They’ve been on their best behaviour today, both of them, and peace can be such a fragile thing. One poorly thought-out turn of phrase could send all this goodwill out the window, and she can’t afford for that to happen. This is too important. She needs him too much.

So, she bids him good night with a careful smile and quick touch of fingertips to knee, then opens the door and slides out to the sidewalk. Walking the last few feet to her front stoop, she turns at the bottom of the stairs just in time to watch the big old truck disappear into the heavy evening traffic.

Easing herself down onto a step halfway up, she watches the rush of the city. It’s a while before she goes inside.


	3. Chapter 3

Just before noon on the morning of her ultrasound appointment, Diane sits at her desk, working her way through a pile of invoices requiring her approval. It hasn’t been the best day thus far. She had thrown up while brushing her teeth and her stomach still doesn’t feel right. And now she has a heachache beginning behind her left eye, probably due to a combination of stress and lack of caffeine. She wonders if she’s even allowed a painkiller.

Taking a sip of her ginger tea, she makes a face when the tepid liquid hits her tongue. It’s been sitting there longer than she thought. Setting it down, she’s about to check Chumhum for headache advice when her phone rings. Flipping it over, she checks the display before she answers. Kurt’s name flashes up at her, no doubt calling to confirm he’s picking her up for her appointment.

“Hello,” she greets him, her voice dropping an octave involuntarily.

“Hey. We still on for later?”

"Yes,” she tells him, then hesitating for a second before continuing. “But don’t bother don’t coming upstairs. I'll meet you in the lobby.” He isn’t going to like that one bit. She braces for the disagreement sure to come.

"You still haven’t told Will.” It’s not really a question, but that doesn't prevent the small swell of annoyance at having to answer it. Kurt means well, but his business doesn’t have any employees, just the occasional co-op student. He doesn’t know what it’s like to have so many people depending on him and he doesn’t understand the convoluted politics of her workplace. This situation is going to impact not only Will, but the whole rest of the firm, from the equity partners all the way down to the people in the mailroom. As the managing partner, so much of the administrative work required to keep the place running falls to her, and that's not even considering the daily hand-holding she has to provide to nervous clients, often including those who aren’t even her own.

She just doesn’t want to let anyone down.

"Not yet,” she answers shortly, trying but probably failing to keep the irritation out of her voice. Her stomach is still queasy, her headache is getting worse by the second, and she knows these factors are as much to blame, or more, for her mood as anything he has said. She shouldn’t take it out on him, as tempting a target as he is making himself.

The disapproving silence on the other end of the line is a prompt for her to explain herself, to try and justify her decision, but it’s not going to happen. She’s not asking for a lot here, she would just prefer to avoid a repeat of the last time he arrived to pick her up. She’s gotten about as many miles from her imaginary pornography case as she's going to, and she’s still not quite ready to share her news. Not until after today, at least. She has her reasons.

She can tell from the long pause that follows that he’s undergoing his own internal struggle between whether to argue or simply agree to keep the peace.

 _This is going to be our lives for the next twenty years, cowboy,_ she thinks. _Better get used to it._

At last he agrees with a terse, “Fine.”

“Fine,” she repeats quietly, but he’s already gone. She ends the call and tosses her phone to her desk, dropping her head to her hand and squeezing her eyes shut against both the threat of tears and the pain in her head.

“Something wrong?” She looks up to find the object of her conundrum standing in her doorway.

“What? Oh, ah, no. Nothing, it’s just, er...what’s up?” She straightens up and attempts to look less pained.

“Can I come in?”

She doesn’t think Will has ever, not once, in all the years they’ve been partners, asked permission to enter her office. Immediately she’s on guard. She gestures to the chair opposite her. “Be my guest.”

He grimaces, as if about to perform some unpleasant task. “I think I owe you an apology,” he says.

Her eyebrows fly up. “Excuse me?” she asks, stifling a smile. “I believe I misheard you.”

“You’re going to make me work for this aren’t you?”

“Oh yes, yes I am.” She leans back and crosses her arms across her chest.

“Fine.” He falls to his knees and shuffles around behind her desk, then reaches her hand.

“Diane,” he say in dramatic tone, “I’ve been an ass. Can you ever forgive me?”

Laughing, she pulls her hand away. “Get up, you fool. You’re going to ruin your thousand dollar pants.”

Smirking, he gets up and retakes his seat. “Seriously though, I know this suspension has taken its toll on you too and I don’t think I’ve ever properly acknowledged that.”

“You have not,” she agrees. “But thank you for doing so now.” She appreciates his effort even though her burst of laughter has triggered another wave of nausea and now she has to grit her teeth, waiting for it to pass.

“So if sometimes you want to ditch a committee meeting to have lunch with your boyfriend, you should do that,” he adds magnanimously, unaware of her current struggle.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she protests weakly, knowing that soon enough she’ll have to eat those words. Under her desk, her left hand slides across her belly.

His head suddenly tilts to the side. “Hey, are you all right? You look a little green.”

She flutters her free hand dismissively. “Fine, I’m fine. Maybe one too many glasses of wine last night, that’s all,” she lies.

“Oh, ah, okay.” He appears about to question her further, knowing it to be unlike her to get drunk on an average weekday evening, then clearly decides to drop it, for which she is eternally grateful. “Well, if you want to sneak home for a nap, I can tell everyone you had an important meeting.”

“Thanks. I actually do have a meeting a bit later, so I’ll hang in there for now. But I may not come back afterwards.”

“Sure, yeah. Whatever you want, Diane. I’ll hold down the fort. It’s the least I can do.” He stands and starts for the door, turning back to her when he reaches it. “Seriously, thanks for being such a great partner.”

Staring after him as he disappears out the door, Diane is left with the distinct feeling she’s being buttered up for something.

* * *

She’s feeling much better by the time she meets Kurt in the lobby. Her nausea cleared up almost like magic as morning gave way to afternoon, and after she discovered that she could, in fact, take a headache remedy, that situation resolved itself as well.

She and Kurt don’t seem to have much to say to each other after careful greetings are exchanged and polite inquiries about their respective days are made. A casual observer might mistake them for near-strangers rather than two people soon to share a child.

She fears sometimes that they aren’t actually much more than that. They had only really dated for a few months almost two years ago now, and any progress they may have made in understanding each other seems to have long since been lost to passing time and conflicting priorities. It’s not hopeless, the idea of regaining something more, but it won’t be easy either, not with so much now at stake. She wonders sometimes if it wouldn’t be better to forget the whole idea permanently.

After an uncomfortably silent drive, Kurt pulls into a spot in the hospital parking garage and silences the truck’s engine. Making no move to open his door, he tips his head back against the headrest and stares straight ahead at the plain concrete wall in front of them, his hand still resting on the gearshift. Diane eyes him warily for a moment then reaches for her door handle.

His quiet voice stops her. “Diane. Hang on a minute, okay?” he says. “You know...you know I’m not intentionally trying to be an asshole here. I know you can handle your own business. I’m just...I’m afraid. All of this is way outside my comfort zone. I just want you to be healthy. Both of you. That’s all.”

She softens, letting her hand fall away from the door handle and turning towards him in her seat. “I know. And I’m going to tell him. Tomorrow, if this all goes well, I promise.” She inhales deeply, weighing whether to say more and finally deciding to confide in him, to try and meet him halfway. “I think I’m just...scared of having to take it back.”

His forehead furrows as his brows come together. “Take it back? What…”

“Have it not be true after all.” She pauses. “Kurt...what if there’s no heartbeat?”

He exhales slowly, his hand finally falling away from the shifter to land on the bench seat between them.. “Has that been worrying you?”

“No. Yes. It’s not rational, I know. I have enough symptoms that something is definitely going on in there, but…”

“Fear isn’t rational,” he finishes for her as his hand closes the rest of the distance and comes to rest on top of hers.

“No,” she agrees quietly, turning her hand over and lacing their fingers together. “I guess not.”

* * *

The ultrasound technician is polite and professional, though not particularly forthcoming with non-essential information, as she guides Diane through the procedure and then begins writing down notes and measurements with the monitor angled so only she can see it.

Kurt and Diane exchange uncertain glances as the silence stretches on, until after several minutes, Diane summons the courage to ask, “Is everything okay?”

The tech looks up and smiles. “I’ll send the results back to your obstetrician and he’ll discuss anything notable with you. But I can show you this.” She turns the monitor around and points to a vaguely bean-shaped grey area surrounded by black. “There’s your baby. And this…” She reaches out to adjust something on the machine and a steady thub-thub-thub fills the small cubicle. “is its heartbeat.” She points to a small strobing area on the screen. “See?”

“Oh my god,” Diane breathes, squeezing Kurt’s hand tightly. “It’s actually real, Kurt, look.”

“I’m looking,” he tells her, his voice equally awestruck. He leans in closer, mouth slightly agape.

“Would you like a picture to take home?” the tech asks.

“Yes, please,” Diane says, without taking her eyes off the screen. She can’t quite believe it. There is an actual tiny human inside of her right now. She really is having a baby. She didn’t quite believe it until this moment.

The technician prints off a picture and hands it to Diane as she removes the ultrasound wand and rolls the machine back against the wall.

“Congratulations,” she says, then disappears through the cubicle curtain, leaving Kurt and Diane staring at the photograph with slightly dazed expressions.

* * *

She gives in, once again, to the desire to go directly home following her appointment. Will is up to something, but ferreting out whatever it is can wait until tomorrow, along with telling him what _she_ is up to.

Rooting through a drawer in her kitchen, Diane finds what she’s looking for, then walks over to the refrigerator and hangs up the ultrasound photo with a magnet advertising the dealership where she purchased her car. She takes a step back to admire it, her hand rising automatically to rub the spot on her abdomen where she imagines the little embryo might be.

In her mind’s eye the cold, nearly bare surface of her stainless steel refrigerator shifts, becomes covered by crayon drawings on white computer paper, alphabet magnets, and snapshots of a small grinning child.

You will always be able to tell a child lives in her home, she decides then and there, unlike the sterile show house she grew up. She will not become her mother, putting image above all else, including her child.

Blinking the vision away, she picks up her phone and takes a picture of the ultrasound, then impulsively texts it to Kurt. She wonders if he ever imagines the same things she does. Someday, and someday soon, they’re actually going to have to talk about what the future will look like.

Her phone chimes twice in quick succession and she turns it over to look.

_Thanks_

_Cute kid, must take after mom_

Mom. That’s her. Joy bubbles up within her, pushing aside all her nagging fears and doubts. They’ll make it work. Somehow, they’ll make it work.

 _Dad isn’t so bad either,_ she sends back, hoping to gift him with a similar feeling of optimism.

She thinks she must have succeeded when his reply comes a short time later. 

_Dinner tomorrow?_

* * *

“Good morning,” she says, tapping on Will’s doorframe. It’s early, barely nine, but she’s already been in the office for nearly two hours. Of course the first hour didn’t really count as she hadn’t been able to accomplish much of anything while holding perfectly still so as not to trigger her nausea.

Luckily it had passed eventually, earlier that morning than it had the previous one, perhaps due to the lack of accompanying headache. Whatever the reason, she’s grateful. Today is the day she’s telling Will and she doesn’t need any convenient excuses to put it off again.

Will, slouched in his chair and typing on his phone with two thumbs, glances up. "Diane, hey, come in. One sec."

She enters his office and closes the door behind her, wandering over to the window. While she waits for him to finish with his phone, she rehearses in her head what she might say to him.

 _Will, I have some news_.

_Will, I'm going to need to take a leave of absence._

_Will, I'm pregnant._

No matter how she phrases it, he’s going to be shocked, and possibly not in a good way. She and Will are close, as close as she’s ever been to any colleague, but it’s still a professional relationship; he’s never been a personal confidante. And whatever limited amount of exposure he’s had to her personal life has been seen as an inconvenience at best, or, she thinks as she recalls a particularly humiliating day in court, an embarrassment at worst. Though to be fair, she’s viewed his personal life in much the same way.

He finishes with his phone and tosses it on his desk. "I’m glad you’re here. I was going to come talk to you this morning anyway. I have something I want to run by you."

Ah. Part two of whatever he was up to yesterday. She shouldn't let herself be distracted from her purpose, but she has to admit she's curious. "Oh?'

“Yeah. Sit down for a minute.”

Raising an eyebrow, she walks over and takes the seat opposite him, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap.

“So,” he begins, leaning over on his elbows on his desk. “I’ve been thinking about what I want to do once this suspension is up in five months.”

“What you want to _do_?” she repeats, eyes narrowing. She’s not sure she knows what he means. “What kind of cases you want to take? I don’t…”

He leans back in his chair. “Where I want to be.”

Her heart sinks. “You’re thinking of leaving the firm?”

He shakes his head. “No, god. No. Nothing like that.”

Relief floods through her. She’s counting on him taking over the reins, at least for a few months, while she gets her legs under her after the baby comes.

“No, I’m thinking of going to work in the New York office, he continues, as casually as he might tell her he’s thinking of going to the cafe in the lobby to grab a cup of coffee. “I need a break from Chicago, and I think my reputation could use one too.”

He keeps talking, apparently not noticing that she’s stopped breathing. “Now I know the plan was to send Julius out east, but I think it makes more sense for me to go instead. It would be a benefit in getting that office up and running to have a name partner on site, even just temporarily, until judges and potential clients back here have had time to forget about the suspension, and the reasons behind it. So actually, it’s in the firm’s best interest on a couple of fronts. You know there's going to be prejudice against me here that won’t be in play in New York.”

Will continues to talk, but Diane has stopped listening. She needs to stop him, needs to tell him now because the more he talks up this idea, the more enamoured of it he’ll become and the harder it will be for him to backtrack, even if he knows it’s the right thing to do. It’s some ridiculous male ego thing, she supposes, or maybe it’s just Will, but he’s never been able to back down from anything without a fight. And the worst part of it is, he actually has a defensible point here.

But it doesn’t matter. He’s the only one, aside from she herself, who can do the managing partner job. David Lee is a showboater and a money maker; he’s not an administrator. Eli isn’t even a lawyer. Julius could do it; that’s why they were sending him to New York in the first place, but if they take that away from him, the chances he’ll even stay with the firm are slim. None of the junior equity partners are ready. That’s it. It has to be Will.

She inhales deeply. “I’m sorry Will, but that’s not going to work for me.”


	4. Chapter 4

He stares at her. “Excuse me, what? It’s not going to _work_ for you?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Why not?” His tone is incredulous.

She doesn’t answer right away, just stands again and walks back over to the window, her hand coming to rest on her abdomen. It’s starting to rain, and as she watches the first droplets dot the window, then glide their way down the glass, she gathers her resolve. Turning back to him, she says, “I’m going to be taking some time off myself in about 6 months. The firm will need you here.”

“What, why?” His eye is drawn to where she’s now absentmindedly rubbing her stomach. “Wait. No. You’re not…”

She glances down, sees what he sees, and lets her hand fall away. “Yes,” she says, feeling her cheeks flush. “I’m pregnant.” She presses her lips together tightly to hold in a grin.

Will stands up and is by her side in an instant, holding out his arms. “Oh my god, Diane. That’s insane. I mean, congratulations, but… Wow..” He folds her into a tight bear hug.

She laughs, unoffended by his incredulity, and returns his embrace. “It is insane, isn’t it?” she says, stepping back. “But I’m happy. Terrified, but happy.”

“Wait, is it…? McVeigh?”

“Yep.”

Will nods in what she takes as tacit approval. “He’s a bit of an odd duck, but he seems like a decent sort. Doesn’t seem like the type to bail on you.”

Inwardly, she bristles a bit at the description, but doesn’t argue. It’s true; he is very different from most of the other men she knows. That’s a big part of what she likes about him. “No, he’s been good. Surprised, obviously, but supportive.”

“You’re together?”

“No. Not really. It’s complicated.”

“Most worthwhile things are.”

She shrugs, not really wanting to get into it. “In any case, you see why you going to New York right now isn’t an option. I’m going to need at least a few months after, and possibly some time before if complications arise.”

She notes with relief that Will is nodding along. Maybe he’ll see reason on his own without her having to take drastic measures.

“It makes things more complicated for sure,” he says. “But I’m sure we can work it out so we both get what we need.”

Or maybe not.

She’s about to press the point when he glances at his watch. “Shit, I have to go. Outside appointment. Listen, we’ll talk later, okay? And I assume you want to keep this between us for the time being?”

“Please,” she says faintly as he grabs his briefcase and brushes past her.

* * *

She and Will don’t connect again for the remainder of the day, and she’s not sure if she should be concerned or relieved by that fact. It didn’t sound like he was ready to completely give up on his plan to go to New York, but at least he had acknowledged that her situation was something he needed to consider. Surely after some thought he will come to the same conclusion she had - he’s needed here.

By five-thirty, she’s exhausted, as she normally is these days. She’s been in bed by eight most nights lately, asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow, too tired even to dream. The internet assures her this unending fatigue will pass as she moves into her second trimester, and frankly, it better, because she does not have time for this.

She pushes open the door to her house and stumbles out of her heels as she beelines for the couch. Sinking gratefully onto the welcoming cushions, she almost moans aloud in her relief to be home. Kurt is coming to pick her up at seven for dinner, so she really should go upstairs and change her clothes. And she will, in just a minute. She leans her head back against the soft fabric and closes her eyes.

She awakens an hour later, in semi-darkness, to the combined chiming of her phone and her doorbell. Ignoring the phone for now, she levers herself off the couch and goes to answer the door.

Kurt is standing on her doorstep, his phone pressed to his ear, looking slightly aggrieved, which for him, is akin to a full-blown panic attack in someone less stoic. He pulls the phone away and jabs his finger at the end call button.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “I’ve been ringing the bell for five minutes.”

“Fine, I’m fine. I’m sorry; I fell asleep. Come in." She steps back, rubbing her eyes as she allows him to enter.

He does, ambling past her, looking left and right, and it’s only then she remembers he’s never actually been inside her house before. Even that few months they’d dated, they’d always stayed at his place in the country, or his hotel room if he was staying in the city. God, no wonder he questioned her motives. It’s not like she had ever made much of an effort to show him how she felt about him. Not for the reasons he assumed, but she supposes the result is the same.

“Look, if you’re not up for this,” he says, turning back to face her.

The blatantly obvious truth is that she is not. She’s so tired, still, but she doesn’t want him to leave either, doesn’t want to disappoint him, but also doesn’t want be alone. No, it's more than that - she doesn’t want to miss out on this chance to spend some time with him either.

“I don’t think I’m up for going out, no,” she begins, and before she’s even finished her sentence, he’s walking back to the door, his face impassive.

“But I still need to eat, and I wouldn’t mind some company, if you don’t mind something simple,” she adds quickly.

She’s rewarded with one of his rare lopsided smiles. “Sounds good.”

She goes upstairs to change into some loose lounge pants, a t-shirt, and a long, cozy cardigan, then returns to the main level to find him rooting around in her kitchen.

“See anything that looks good?” she asks, coming up behind him.

He turns and eyes her up and down with a lazy grin. “Yep.”

She smiles back, then rolls her eyes. She’s so far from a state where she deserves that kind of admiration it’s ridiculous. “I meant to eat, Kurt.”

“So did I.”

Their eyes catch and hold for a thrilling, but completely ill-advised few seconds, until he finally looks away first.

“Well, you have eggs and bread. How do you feel about breakfast for dinner?”

“Sure.” She steps around him and reaches for the carton of eggs, but he stops her with a hand on her wrist.

“Go, sit. I’ll do it.”

“Kurt, I’m not an invalid.”

“No, but you’re exhausted, and I promised you dinner. Go sit down. Watch tv or something.”

She is, in fact, too exhausted to put up a fight, so she does as she’s told, going into the living room and snagging the television remote from the coffee table before sinking once again into the couch’s welcoming embrace.

Turning on the set, she flicks through the channels, finally settling on a real estate show featuring people who want to buy homes they can’t afford.

She’s almost asleep again when Kurt enters the room carrying two plates laden with scrambled eggs and buttered toast. The one he sets in front of her also holds several thick slices of tomato, while his is ungarnished.

“Kids need vegetables,” he explains gruffly, following her pointed gaze. “Grumpy old men don’t.”

He returns to the kitchen for drinks - apparently both kids and old men need milk - and then sits beside her on the couch.

“Thank you,” she says, sitting back and setting her plate on her lap. “Looks delicious.”

He takes a couple of bites of fluffy, yellow egg, then points his fork at the television where the hapless homebuyers are looking at a child’s bedroom.

“This about baby rooms?”

She shakes her head. “No, just houses in general. But I suppose that’s something I’ll need to consider someday soon.”

“Mmm,” he agrees. “Me too.”

She looks over at him in surprise, then quickly turns back to her plate. She doesn’t know why she hadn’t considered it, but of course he would want his child to have a bedroom in his own home. But this conversation is far too interrelated with another one they’ll have to have soon about custody schedules, and she is far too tired for that, so she simply hums noncommittally and takes a bite of her toast.

“Gonna build one of those too,” he adds, indicating the television, where the young couple is now looking at an immaculately landscaped backyard featuring a somewhat incongruous wooden play structure.

 _He’s excited about this_ , she realizes for the first time. He’s not just being supportive for her sake, he’s actually excited to be a father. A sudden swell of emotion leaves her blinking back tears.

“I think it will be a couple years before he or she will be able to use anything like that,” she advises, hoping he hasn’t noticed her descent into sentimentality.

He swallows a gulp of milk. “I know. Just means I’ll have lots of time to make it good.”

She reaches over and pokes his leg affectionately. “I have no doubt it’ll be the best playset in Illinois.”

When they've finished eating, Kurt gathers up their dishes and takes them into the kitchen and after a few minutes she hears the whoosh of the dishwasher starting up.

"You didn't have to do the dishes too," she protests when he returns.

He shrugs. "I pushed a button. And now I’ll get out of your hair, let you get to bed.”

“I’m sorry I’m not very good company,” she apologizes, stifling another yawn.

“It’s okay. Kinda my own fault.”

She laughs. “True enough. I’m given to understand that I should get my second wind in a couple more weeks. Raincheck?”

He glances at the floor, then gives her a lopsided grin. “Any time.”

She rises with a soft groan, stretches, then wraps her cardigan around herself as she walks him to the door in her sock feet.

"This was nice," she says, leaning against the doorway leading to the foyer, watching him thoughtfully as he puts on his jacket.

He walks toward her, adjusting the collar of his jacket as he goes, stopping a scant foot away and reaching out to lightly grasp her arms.

“It was,” he says, smiling at her.

She smiles in return for a second before the expression starts to falter. “We should have done more of this,” she says quietly. “Before.”

“Yeah. We should have.” He lifts one hand to run the back of his index finger down her cheek.

She tilts her head into his touch, her eyes drifting closed. She feels rather than sees him take a step closer, but before she can react, a full body yawn takes hold of her. She steps back and covers her mouth as she turns away.

“Good god, I’m sorry,” she says when she’s finished, her eyes still watering. “That was rude.”

“It’s fine. I’m the one being rude, keeping you up. I’m going to go now. Sweet dreams.” He reaches out and touches her arm quickly, one last time, then turns for the door.

She follows and watches him jog down the stairs, then turn to give her a little wave before going left and disappearing down the sidewalk to wherever he left the truck. She closes the door and locks it, then leans her forehead against the cool steel, lost in thought.

* * *

“Ugh,” she says to her reflection as she stands in front of her full length mirror. She’s on her third outfit of the morning and nothing is working. Standing sideways, she smooths her hands down the front of her dress. She doesn’t really look pregnant, not yet. She just looks...fat. And chesty, which she’s never been in her entire life. Maybe she should wear something low cut, divert attention from her stomach to her boobs, except she’s not sure she even owns such a thing.

She exhales dramatically. She’s just going to have to go shopping. Make one last face at the mirror, she returns to her closet and pulls out a long, loose fitting jacket to wear over her dress.

At almost fifteen weeks, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to hide her condition. She still hasn’t announced it to the general population at the firm. Will is still the only partner she’s told, though Kalinda, unsurprisingly, figured it out on her own shortly thereafter. From the funny looks Diane’s been getting from Alicia lately, it's clear she also suspects _something_ is up, if not exactly what.

Obviously, the announcement can’t be put off any longer. She and Will need to get on the same page, and they need to do it right now. She’ll have to corner him today, get his firm commitment from him to stay in Chicago and handle her duties while she’s off. Then they can present a united front to the general partnership.

As she’s slipping on her shoes ( _flats_ , she adds mentally to her shopping list), her phone chimes.

Glancing around her room, she locates it on her nightstand and crosses the room to pick it up, checking the screen, then thumbing it unlocked.

 _Hey,_ the text from Kurt reads, _probably on stand all day. Will call tonight. Have a good day_

 _You too,_ she sends back, sinking down onto her bed as she types, then dropping her phone beside her.

He’s been gone for three weeks now, testifying in back-to-back cases. She had hoped the imposed distance might make it easier for them to figure out their future, but both of them have been so busy, they’ve barely spoken at all beyond basic updates and pleasantries.

She laughs out loud at her own thoughts. _Busy_. Right. In truth, they are both much too good at avoidance.

 _Soon_ , she promises herself, but she doesn’t really believe it.

* * *

"Good, okay, so that settles the Intellectual Property division questions. I'll speak to Lillian later today; she won't be thrilled, but I think she'll understand it's the best we can do under the circumstances." Diane pulls off her glasses and tosses them on the desk in front of her. "Thanks for backing me up. I know this wasn't your first choice."

Will inclines his head. "No, but you were right. We have enough on our plates without another expansion." He plants his palms on his thighs in preparation to stand, then pauses. "Is there anything else?"

She squares her shoulders. "Yes, actually. We need to decide what's going to happen when I go on maternity leave."

He winces. "We do? Why? We've still got, what...five months or so to figure that out?"

“Why? Jesus, Will, look at me!” She stands and turns sideways, pulling her jacket to the side and smoothing her hand over her midsection. “I’m not going to be able to hide this much longer, and the last thing we need is for the rumour mill to get started before we can get ahead of it. And once we tell people, they're going to want to know the plan.”

He swears under his breath. “Shit. Yeah. Yeah you’re right. They’ll have me running off to New York because I knocked you up and I’m avoiding my responsibilities.”

Diane stares, then bursts into laughter, covering her mouth and falling back into her chair. “God forbid,” she manages to say when she can breathe again.

Just as she’s calm enough to get back to the subject at hand, the door to her office slams open, and Julius storms in, coming to stand in front of the window, with an accusatory finger pointed right at Will.

“What the fuck, Will? Why are _my_ people in New York, that _I_ recruited, suddenly under the impression that you’re the one who’s moving there?”

Diane’s eyes widen and her jaw drops as she looks over at Will, very interested the answer to that question herself. She had no idea he’d gone beyond the thinking stage with that scheme.

“My name’s still on the letterhead, pal. I’ll work where I want to work,” Will snaps, leaning back and crossing his arms across his chest.

“Your name is going to slam doors in our faces, _pal_. New York isn’t Chicago. Corruption isn’t sexy there.” He turns to Diane. “I thought I was only supposed to be splitting my time between here and there until this joker is off suspension?”

Will doesn’t give her a chance to answer, jumping to his feet and lighting into Julius about how they are the name partners and they will make personnel decisions, while Julius continues to make digs about Will’s ethics or lack thereof.

Diane watches them as long as she can stand, her head swiveling back and forth like she’s at a tennis match until finally she’s had it. She shoves her chair back and stands, leaning over on two hands against the top of her desk.

“Stop it!” she shouts. “Just stop it! I am so fucking tired of having to play referee to a bunch of man-sized children! Get out of my office, figure your shit out, and let me know what you decide. I don’t care who it is, but someone needs to step the fuck up and be the adult in the room while I’m gone.”

“Gone? Where…” Julius starts to ask, his voice trailing off as he looks to Will.

“What?” she asks, noticing the identical looks of concern on both men’s faces.

“Diane,” Will says, extending his arm to point at her face. “Your nose.”

She swipes a hand under her nose. It comes away wet with bright red blood


	5. Chapter 5

“Damn it!” Diane grabs a handful of tissues from the box on her desk and presses them to her nose, sitting down and tilting her head slightly forward. “It’s okay,” she tells the staring men. “It’s fine; I’m fine. I just have extra blood right now. Sometimes it tries to escape.“

“Extra blood?” Julius mouths, head cocked in confusion.

“Tell him.” She waves from Will to Julius, then stands again and retreats to her adjoining bathroom.

“She’s pregnant,” she hears Will explain as she closes the door.

After a few moments, she tentatively removes the tissue from her nose. When no more blood flows, she drops the tissues in the bin and pulls a piece of paper towel from the dispenser, wetting it under the tap. Gingerly, she cleans the blood from her face, then washes her hands.

By the time she returns to her office, Julius is gone, and Will is waiting for her alone, sitting again in the chair in front of her desk, tapping his hands lightly against his thighs. She ignores him and returns to her desk.

“I’m sorry. I’m an ass,” he says as she slips on her glasses, then opens her laptop and logs into the network. “I seem to be saying that a lot lately.”

“It’s true a lot. Lately,” she replies without looking at him.

“Yeah.” Out of the corner of her eye, she watches him shift uncomfortably in his chair. “Look, Diane, you don’t have to stress out about the firm. Everything is going be fine. I’ll be here to look after things while you’re gone. I apologized to Julius for going behind his back with this New York thing, and you should know he volunteered to help in whatever way we need him to while you’re off. So it’s all figured out. Just say the word, and I’ll have my assistant send out notice of a general partnership meeting and you can make your announcement with my full support.”

So much tension leaves her body all at once, she wants to melt into her chair, but instead she holds herself erect, closes her laptop carefully and turns to her partner, regarding him over the rims of her glasses. “Thank you, Will. I appreciate you stepping up and taking on the day-to-day management of the firm, which, by the way, is as much your responsibility as it is mine,” she says dryly. “And thank you for your kind offer, but I will have _my_ assistant call the partnership meeting.”

Will blinks, his jaw dropping slightly. After a moment of silence, he snorts and points a finger at her. “Funny. You’re a funny lady, Diane.”

She lifts her shoulders and presses her lips together to avoid laughing.

Will shakes his head, and gets up to leave.

As he reaches the door, she calls his name. “Thanks,” she says when he turns around. They both understand she isn’t thanking him for doing his job, but for not making life more difficult for her than it needs to be, because they also both understand that he could.

He gives her a quick mock salute and disappears down the hall.

* * *

“All right,” Diane says a couple of days later, from her seat at the head of the boardroom table. “Unless anyone else has any new business, I think that about wraps things up.”

The announcement had gone much as she expected - quite a few dropped jaws, but following that, generally positive or at least neutral reactions. She’s been doing this long enough to know that any negative reactions will come later, hopefully privately, after people have had time to digest the news and what it means for them, personally.

There’s a sudden flurry of activity as the equity partners gather up their belongings and file out the door, some in a harried rush to get back to work, others talking amiably to their allies or taking the opportunity to glare at their rivals.

After five minutes or so, only Diane and Eli remain seated at the massive table.

“Do you have something you want to say, Eli?” she asks, not looking up from the notes she’s making on her legal pad. If this is another bid to get his name on the door, she might just scream.

“Yes,” he says. “You know I’ve been hired to do crisis management for Devane Nutritional Products.”

That gets her attention. DNP is one division of a huge multinational they’ve been trying to lure into the fold for years now. It’s only been through their connection to Eli that they’re finally gaining traction. She looks up, pen still poised over paper.

“Yes. They’re being sued for selling tainted infant formula. It was Will’s case to start with, and Julius has it now.”

“Correct,” Eli says, seemingly pleased by her knowledge. “I want you on it instead.”

“What? Why?”

“Optics. Obviously. Why would a pregnant woman defend a company which knowingly poisoned babies?”

She smirks. “I don’t know, Eli. Why would she?”

He narrows his eyes. “Because her partner asked her to. And because she’s going to be going off on maternity leave shortly, and might appreciate having an inside source to all the things her other partners aren’t sharing with her during that time.”

He does have a point. As much as she knows Will is the only one capable of managing the firm in her absence, she also knows there is a very good chance she could return to a firm she no longer recognizes if he decides to take advantage of her distraction.

“I’ll think about it.” She goes back to her pad, writing nonsense words, because of course she’s going to do it. She would have done it just for the chance at DNP’s parent company’s multi-millions in annual billings, but Eli’s offer is a pretty sweet cherry on top.

Eli nods. “Okay. Think fast. There’s a preliminary hearing next week.”

She looks back up. Shit. She hadn’t realized it was so soon. “Next week? Oh, no. No, Eli. If they want me, they’re going to have to pay my rate in addition to Julius’, not instead of. There’s no way I can get up to speed that fast.”

“Fine. I’ll talk to them, but fine. It’ll be worth it.”

“ _I’m_ worth it, Eli. Regardless of what my waistline looks like.”

He laughs. “Of course you are. I know that. This is just an added bonus. Don’t worry; they’ll pay.”

When he reaches the door, he turns back, eyebrows knit together. “They _didn’t_ knowingly poison babies. You got that that was a hypothetical, right?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, Eli.”

“Okay. Good.”

He turns back to the doorway, takes half a step, then around again.

“Oh. And ah...congratulations and stuff.” She thinks his smile is actually genuine.

“Thank you, Eli.”

* * *

She arrives home at the end of the day feeling more energized that she has in weeks. With the weight of the uncertainty regarding the firm lifted from her shoulders, she feels like she can finally focus on other things, happier things.

Flicking on the overhead light, she enters the smaller of her two secondary bedrooms. Given that she rarely has guests, the room has mostly served as an overflow closet since she bought this house several years earlier. It’s the closer of the two to the master bedroom, and will work nicely as a nursery.

The other, larger, guest room with the attached bath will probably have to be for a nanny, as much as she dislikes the idea of having a stranger living in her house. She can work from home more often than she does currently, but even so, her hours are and will continue to be too long and too unpredictable for anything but live-in care, at least until the child is school aged.

That room, already elegantly, but neutrally decorated, is probably fine as it is, but this room… She looks around at the numerous wardrobes and stacks of storage bins. This room needs work. She grins to herself. This is going to be fun.

Just then, she detects the faint chime of her phone ringing from inside her purse, which is in her own bedroom. Jogging across the hall, she grabs it just before it switches to voicemail.

“Hey, Kurt. What’s going on?” she answers happily, allowing her good mood to shine through in her voice.

“Hey yourself. You sound cheerful.”

“I am. I had a good day.” Leaving her bedroom, she walks out into the hall, her free arm swinging breezily as she goes.

“Good,” he says. “I’m glad to hear it. What made it so good?”

“I told the partners, all of them. Everything is finally out in the open, and, cross your fingers, no major blowback. God, it is such a relief to not have to hide anymore.”

“That’s great, Diane.” And she can hear relief for her in his voice too. “So does that mean I can tell some people now?”

She doesn’t know why, but it’s something of a revelation to her that he even has people in his life he wants to tell. It shouldn’t be; of course he has friends and colleagues just as she does. And, unlike her, he may even have family. What does it say about them that she doesn’t actually know?

“Yes, of course,” she tells him. Then, after a pause, because this feels like a bigger step than perhaps it should, “This is your baby too, Kurt. You don’t need my permission to be happy, to celebrate his or her impending arrival with the people you care about.”

The line is silent for a long moment and she takes the opportunity to return to the future nursery, curling up in the large armchair in front of the window. Perhaps she’ll replace it with a rocker.

“Thanks,” he says eventually. “I will.”

“We’ve never talked about our families,” she begins, hesitantly. “Do you…”

He anticipates her question even as she trails off. “No. My parents have been gone for years. I had an older sister, but she drowned when she was six.”

“Oh my god Kurt, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine. I was only four; I don’t even remember her.” His neutrality feels carefully maintained. “What about you?”

“My parents are both gone too, a long time ago. No siblings.” Even the friends she once counted as family - Lyle and Fran; Henry, Lenore, and Maia - feel far-removed lately. She needs to change that. Her child needs a community.

“I want to tell my buddy John,” Kurt adds, as if thinking the same thing. “We grew up together. I guess he’s almost like a brother. His daughter is my goddaughter.” He laughs suddenly. “And actually, you’ve met her.”

“I have?” She tries to remember when that could have happened.

“Yep. Miranda.”

Her jaw drops. “What? Are you kidding me? She’s your _goddaughter_ ? I am _sure_ you didn’t mention that before.”

“Nope,” he says. “I ah...I might have been enjoying your reaction a little too much when you were trying to decide whether I was sleeping with her.” He at least has the good grace to sound a little sheepish.

“Kurt! God. That’s not funny! I was so embarrassed; I didn’t know what I had just walked into!” It explains a lot though. Miranda and Kurt had been far too at ease with each other to have just a regular student/teacher relationship, although she had eventually figured out they weren’t sleeping together when the younger woman had been unconcerned about leaving them alone together.

“I know. It was cute as hell. Don’t worry, I caught hell for it later from her _and_ her mother.”

“Ha! Good. I knew I liked that girl.”

“You’d like her mother too. I was supposed to introduce you a while ago, but...”

“But then I cancelled our fishing date,” she says quietly. Why hadn’t she ever tried to reschedule anything? The cold, unpleasant truth, is she just got busy and… forgot about him. Until she realized it had been an awfully long time since she had a period and she was gagging on her toothbrush every morning. Then, she remembered. God, what does that say about her?

“Yeah.”

“Kurt, I’m so sorry. I should have called when my schedule cleared.”

“It’s okay. My guess is it never did.”

She laughs humorlessly. “No. Not really. But it’s going to now.”

Another long moment of silence passes, but it’s not uncomfortable. She’s getting used to his spare style of communication. His every word has a purpose, none of his energy is wasted on pretense or ambiguity or nonsense words spoken only to fill empty spaces. She’s coming to see it as freeing.

Standing up, she stretches from side to side, working the kinks from her back, before sitting back down, legs folded beneath her. “Any idea when you might be back in town?”

“Couple more weeks probably. Sooner if they plead out.”

“That would be nice. Hotel living can be so awful.”

“I’m used to it. But this time there’s somewhere else I’d rather be.”

She wishes he was here too, because she knows he doesn’t want to miss anything, but also because she likes having someone to share all this with. And she misses him; again, she misses him. It’s a recurring theme lately; that fact hasn’t escaped her even if she doesn’t yet know what to do about it.

“You’re not the only one who is going to have to adjust their priorities,” he adds. “I don’t want to be on the road half this kid’s childhood. Not when there’s a good chance I won’t even live long enough to see them graduate college.”

Her first instinct is to discount what he’s saying, but of course he has a point, whether she wants to admit it or not. Kurt is fifty-six years old. He’ll be seventy-eight when their child graduates college. While it’s not ancient by today’s standards, it’s certainly not young either.

“You worry about that?” she asks quietly instead, hoping to encourage him to confide in her.

He’s silent for a moment longer, and then sighs loudly. “Yeah, well, I mean, none of this is ideal, right? But we’ll do the best we can, and if that means I need to make some changes in my life to make sure I’m a presence in my kid’s life, then that’s what I’ll do. That’s a promise I can make you right now.”

“A child could do worse than to have you for a father,” she tells him, and she means it. The relationship she pictures between him and their child may be superficially very different from the one she had with her own father, but she believes with all her heart it will be just as loving and supportive. She adored her father. She wants that for her child as well.

She can only hope they’ll have a far better relationship with their mother than she did.

“Thanks,” Kurt says, and she can see his uncomfortable posture even from a thousand miles away. “It’s getting late for you, I guess I should probably let you get to bed.”

“You know, I’m actually not all that tired,” she realizes with a surprised glance at her watch. It’s after 8:00 already. “Maybe that’s finally passed.”

“Good. So maybe you’ll be up for cashing in that rain check for dinner when I get back in town.”

“Yes, of course, and oh my god, do you know what I want?” She’s practically salivating just thinking about it.

“Name it.”

“ A nice, thick, juicy steak. And potatoes. Oh god, and chocolate cheesecake for dessert. You know, maybe I should get off the phone and go make something to eat.”

He starts chuckling before she even finishes speaking. “I think that’s probably a good idea.”

The amusement in his voice makes her laugh too. “Don’t you laugh at me, McVeigh. This is your fault.”

He only laughs harder. “My fault? I’m pretty sure you were the one who showed up on my doorstep ready to go.”

Damn it. That was true. “Well, you didn’t put up much of a fight,” she reminds him.

He stops laughing and when he speaks again, his voice has turned low and enticing. “You’re a lot for a guy to resist, Ms Lockhart. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Bye.” Still smiling, she disconnects the phone, unfolds herself from the chair and goes in search of sustenance.


	6. Chapter 6

“We’ll need a expert in biochemistry to counter their witness,” Diane notes, adding to the already long list on her legal pad. “DNP’s in-house chemist won’t make a particularly good witness; he's too abrupt, but I think if we put him on the stand briefly, then the expert can do the heavy lifting.”

“Agreed,” Julius says. “I think I know someone; I’ll give her a call, see if she’s available.” He makes a note of his own. “Anything else?”

Diane runs a finger down her list. “I don’t think so. Eli, how is the client feeling about things?” Sitting on the other side of the room, eyes glued to his phone, the crisis manager appears not to have been paying much attention to the lawyers’ talk of strategy, but Diane knows him better than that.

Eli continues to tap at his phone for a couple of seconds longer, then looks up. “Better now that you’re on board. A high-powered, attractive, female attorney who’s visibly pregnant? They think I’m brilliant. I am,  _in fact_ , brilliant.”

“If you do say so yourself,” Julius mutters.

Diane rolls her eyes at Eli, then turns to Julius. “You know this is still your case. I have neither the time, nor the inclination to take it over. I’m perfectly content to stand up and object every so often so the jury can see my midsection, but you’re driving this bus, Julius, and if we get more business out of this case, it will be thanks to you. Isn’t that right, Eli?”

“Fine, yes, right,” he agrees, standing up and heading for the door. “But Diane needs to do the summation. And she needs to talk to the press.”

Her eyes widen. “Wait, what? Eli, I never agreed to that. Talking to the press is your job.”

“Not this time. You need to be the face of this case, Diane. That’s the deal.” He starts for the door again, then huffs and turns back around. “What you two don’t seem to understand is that winning the case isn’t enough. They need to win with their reputation intact. Mothers everywhere need to trust them. They need to know that Diane, a mother who is richer, smarter, and hotter than they are, trusts this company.” He takes a couple of steps closer to them, and to Diane's surprise, drops his usual blustery tone. “Look, I know this is distasteful, maybe even exploitative. I’m a parent too, you know. But this is what’s best for our client; and this is what it will win us the rest of the business.” He lifts his hands in acquiescence. “It’s up to you.”

She and Julius stare after him as he turns again and this time continues out the door.

“ _Hotter_?” Diane mouths silently, pressing her index finger between her eyes.

“If you’re worried about me,” Julius tells her, “Don’t be. I’m fine with doing the grunt work and letting you take the spotlight. I know this is an unusual situation. Plus DNP’s parent company has a lot of assets in New York that could come my way later.”

Diane blows out a breath. Eli has inadvertently put a name to the uneasy feeling she’s been carrying around with her regarding this case ever since he first brought it up with her. It did feel exploitative, of her baby, of her as a woman, and of all the other women who will take her presence as some kind of endorsement of DNP and their product. But at the same time, it’s a solid strategy, and they owe it to their client to use every advantage they have. “Okay,” she tells Julius, taking off her glasses and folding them up. “Fine. We’ll do it their way.”

Julius nods and stands. “I’ll let you know on that expert. If she’s available, you should sit in on the interview.”

“Sounds good.”

As Julius leaves, she picks up her phone to check the time. Somehow, it’s only 10:30 in the morning, leaving the rest of the day stretching out before her like some long, winding highway of anxiety.

She has an appointment late that afternoon with the perinatologist for an amniocentesis, a test that will determine if her baby has any chromosomal abnormalities. Her internet research tells her the procedure itself carries some risk, and involves a heinously long needle being inserted into her uterus. She had forced herself to stop reading at that point, but it was too late; the image had already lodged itself in her brain.

Making everything all the more nerve wracking, she’s on her own this time, as Kurt is still out of town. Tapping her phone unlocked, she opens her text messages to read the last one she sent that morning before work.

 _Nervous_ , it reads.  _I wish you were here._

 She had kicked herself right after sending it. It was too needy, too revealing; that’s not the relationship they have. The fact that he hasn’t yet responded makes her feel even worse. She exhales heavily.

He could just be busy. He’s away to work, and he’s not really a phone guy anyway. There’s no guarantee he has it nearby, or even has it turned on. He wants to be there for her, and he knows she’s nervous. He’ll check in when he can.

Tapping her screen into blackness, she drops the phone in a drawer and picks up a file at random from the stack on her desk, her hand sliding absently across her abdomen as she opens it.

* * *

“Hey stranger.”

Later that day, Diane looks up to find Will standing in her doorway. “Hey yourself.” She smiles. “Long time, no see.”

Between her heavy court schedule, and...well, whatever Will’s been off doing while he can’t do any actual legal work, she and her partner have managed to miss each other most of the week. “Come in, sit. Let’s catch up.”

Will falls into the seat opposite her. “You’ve been busy this week. Is that good for you?”

She shrugs. “I feel fine. I imagine in another couple of months I might not want to be on my feet so much, but I’m good for now.”

“We aren’t stressing you out too much?”

“Not at the moment,” she tells him, and it’s the truth. The firm has been remarkably drama-free since her announcement, which probably just means people aren’t telling her things, but she’s trying to turn over a new, more serene, leaf and not worry about it. “I’m not taking on anything that looks to be long term, and I’m gradually introducing my ongoing clients to the partners who will be looking after them while I’m off. So far, no major pushback. Most people are understanding.”

“Good, good. And how’s everything else?”

“Okay.” She makes a face. “An unpleasant test later today.” She glances involuntarily at her dark and silent phone. It hadn’t lasted more than thirty minutes hidden away in the drawer, but having it out in plain view hasn’t made Kurt contact her any faster. “I have to leave in a little while and I probably won’t be back until Monday.”

“Take whatever time you need,” Will tells her, so magnanimously that it sends up little flags of wariness. She hastily shoves them aside.

“Thanks,” she starts to say, as movement in the hall on the other side of the glass wall catches her eye. Her voice trails off as her jaw drops in shock. Kurt is ambling down the hall towards her, unmistakable even from a distance in his jeans, plaid shirt and puffy dark green vest. He lifts a hand in greeting when he catches her staring at him.

Will, having noticed her distraction, turns around in his seat. “Ah,” he says. “I’ll get out of your way.”

He stands, and meets Kurt at the door to her office. “Hey man, congratulations,” he says, sticking out his hand.

Kurt shakes it, his eyes leaving Diane’s only for the instant it takes to acknowledge the other man. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Hi,” he says to her when Will is gone.

“Hey,” she says, standing and walking around her desk. “You’re here.” The words are inane, but she can’t control the grin stretching across her face at the truth of them. It’s all she can do to refrain from flinging herself into his arms.

“I am,” he agrees, grinning back. “I went to the courthouse this morning, thinking I was going to be on the stand all day, and they told me it was done. The guy changed his plea. I went straight from there to the airport to here.”

And probably didn’t take the time check his phone, she realizes, not bothering to try and contain her sheer joy at this unexpected turn of events.

“Look at you,” he says, awestruck, as his eyes sweep over her from head to toe. He reaches out, then stops, his hand hovering in the space between them as he curbs the impulse just in time.

“It’s okay,” she tells him softly. “You can touch me.”

After a second, he does, laying his hand gently over the swell of her abdomen. “Does it...can you feel it move yet?”

“Not yet. It’s still a bit early. Should be soon though.”

He lets his hand fall away, grazing her arm before bringing it back to his side. “I’m not too late, am I? For the amnio?”

“No,” she says, glancing at her watch. “But actually, we should probably get going now.”

“Okay.”

He crosses the room to the closet and retrieves her coat and bag, while she shuts down her computer. After helping her into her coat, he guides her through the door, his hand on the small of her back.

* * *

“As your obstetrician probably already told you, what we’re going to do here is draw up a sample of amniotic fluid, which will allow us to test the fetus for various chromosomal abnormalities.” Dr. Chen, a petite woman with shiny black hair and red-framed glasses, explains to them. “We’ll also learn the baby’s sex, if that’s something you’re interested in knowing.”

Diane turns her head and lifts her eyebrows at that, but Kurt just shrugs. “Up to you, you’re doing all the hard work here.”

“You don’t have to decide now,” the perinatologist assures them. “Your OB will have the info with the rest of your results in about a week, if you want to know. All right, you can go ahead and lay down on the table.”

While Dr. Chen busies herself with her equipment, talking quietly to the nurse who has joined them, Diane lays down on the exam table, and gestures Kurt over to stand beside her. “I’m glad you’re here, she whispers, squeezing his hand tightly.

“Me too.”

“Okay,” the doctor says, coming to stand on the other side of her. “We need to use the ultrasound to find a good spot to insert the needle and collect some fluid without disturbing baby. Sorry, this will probably be cold.”

She squirts some gel onto Diane’s exposed abdomen, then presses the wand to her skin, moving it around while watching the monitor. “First we’ll do the fun part,” she tells them, then laughing as Diane and Kurt exchange blank glances. "You two thought you already did the fun part, huh?"

Kurt smirks and looks at the floor, while Diane just laughs, finding his reaction even funnier than the doctor’s comment.

“No, I meant this,” she explains, turning the monitor towards them so they can see, then turning on the sound so they can hear the steady thrum of the fetal heartbeat.

After pointing out the baby’s various limbs, and giving the future parents time to stare in awe, she turns the monitor back around and starts looking for a good insertion point.

“Now for the less fun part,” she says after a moment. “The needle will hurt a bit going in, but once it’s in place, you shouldn’t feel anything.”

The nurse swabs the area with alcohol, then takes over holding the ultrasound wand, while Dr. Chen carefully inserts the needle.

Diane closes her eyes and presses her lips together at the stinging pain, squeezing Kurt’s hand tightly. She can feel his other hand come to rest over top of hers.

“Okay,” the doctor says after several minutes pass. “That should do it. There will be a bit of pressure as I withdraw the needle.”

That sensation is unpleasant, but over quickly, and the doctor asks that Diane remain lying down.

“You may experience some minor cramping for the next twenty-four hours or so, and you may find you’re expelling small amounts of blood or fluid. Also, as with any invasive medical procedure, there is a small chance of infection, so you should be alert for symptoms such as fever or tenderness around he insertion site. If you’re worried about anything at all, call my service. Otherwise, I suggest taking it easy; have dinner in bed, watch some movies. Sleep in tomorrow. Let this handsome fellow wait on you for a bit; he doesn’t look like he’d mind.

“Nope,” Kurt says, squeezing the hand he’s still holding.

“All right, guys. I think that’s it then. I’d like you to stay here for twenty minutes or so just to be safe. Nia here will check back in with you after that, and if everything is okay, you can be on your way.

* * *

“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll take another raincheck for that steak dinner,” Diane says apologetically as she eases up the stairs to her front door, holding on to Kurt’s arm. Her stomach is only faintly crampy, perhaps due mainly to the power of suggestion, but she’s not about to tempt fate with a heavy meal.

Kurt waves her off with the arm she’s not currently clinging to. “No worries, I’m not really up for it myself tonight.”

“Oh god, Kurt. I didn’t even think,” she says, fumbling the key into the lock. "You had a long flight this morning, and you haven’t even been home yet. You must be exhausted.”

“Yeah," he agrees. "I’m a little tired. An early night sounds good to me. Luckily, I still have my bag in the truck.”

It’s only then that she understands he’s planning on staying the night, and in the same instant he seems to realize that perhaps he’s assuming to much. “Do you want me to leave? I just thought… The doctor said…”

“No. Stay,” she tells him, her hand on the doorknob. "It’s fine; I want you to. Thank you.”

She pushes the front door open and he follows her into the entryway.

“Okay,” he agrees, clearly considering that subject closed. “Let’s get you settled, and I’ll see about dinner. Not steak, something a little easier.”

“Just order in something for yourself,” she suggests as he slides her coat off her shoulders. “I’m not very hungry.”

“You have to eat something, Diane. I’ll see what you’ve got,” he tells her. “Let’s get you upstairs first.”

She laughs. “I’m fine, Kurt. I can make it up the stairs on my own.”

He just snorts, and she rolls her eyes at his overprotectiveness, but doesn’t bother protesting again. In truth, she enjoys the closeness.

Reminded again that he's never spent a night at her house before, she points him towards her room when they reach the top of the stairs. “And the guest room is over there, and in here will be the baby’s room.”

He walks into that room, looking from side to side and nodding to himself before turning back to her. “I can help you clear it out if you want,” he offers, indicating the piles of storage bins.

“Yes, thank you. That would be nice. I can, ah, help you with a room at your place too,” she adds, remembering him mentioning wanting one. “With the shopping,” she adds quickly at the look that earns her. “Not the heavy lifting.”

He inclines his head. “Deal.”

He then follows her on to her room, only to stop awkwardly in the doorway while she crosses to her closet.

“So, I’m just going to get changed and get in bed,” she tells him with a smirk. “Did you need to supervise that also?”

“I could,” he says, his eyes boring into her in a way that makes her shiver and suddenly wish she was being confined to her bed for the night for completely different reasons.

“But I think I’ll go see about dinner,” he finishes, sounding less happy with that plan than he had just a short time earlier.

She sighs. “That’s probably safer. But bring your dinner up too. We can watch a movie. Doctor’s orders.”

He nods, giving her a lopsided grin, before disappearing back down the hall.

* * *

Side-by-side, they sit on her bed, she in her pyjamas, cozy under the covers, and sipping on the mug of tea he brought her after dinner; and he, still fully clothed and on top of the comforter, toying with the glass of top shelf whiskey she told him to pour, because someone should enjoy it, even if she can’t. He’s watching the action movie she chose intently, but she has lost track of the plot, the mild cramping she’s experiencing keeping her mind on the test she just had. Or, more specifically, on the possible results.

She picks up the remote from the bed between them and pauses the movie. “Kurt, what if everything isn’t okay?”

He doesn’t need to ask what she’s talking about. Perhaps he’s not so involved in the movie after all. “Then we’ll deal with it.” He reaches over and peels her right hand away from her mug and entwined their fingers. “But there is no point in torturing ourselves with what-ifs when we’ll know the facts in just a few days.”

He’s right, she knows he is. But that doesn’t answer her most nagging question.

“But what if something is very wrong? Incompatible with life wrong.”

He’s silent for a long moment, staring at the motionless actors on the tv screen, and she knows he understands what she’s asking him.

Eventually he looks directly at her and squeezes her hand. “I’m going to be there for you, Diane. No matter what has to be done.”

She watches him for a moment, taking comfort from the steadiness with which he returns her gaze, then nods quickly, setting her mug aside and tugging on his arm until he wraps it around her. She picks up the remote again and unpauses the movie, settling back against the solid warmth of his body, attempting to lose herself in the events unfolding on the screen.

The next she’s aware, the room is silent and dark, and Kurt is moving around, trying, she realizes belatedly, to get up without waking her.

“Where are you going?” she mumbles, burrowing further down into the bedding seeking to replace the warmth he’s taken with him.

“The guest room,” he replies, sounding mildly amused.

“That’s a terrible idea. You should probably not do that.”

He chuckles quietly in the darkness beside the bed. “Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh. Pants off and back in bed, McVeigh.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She hears the rasp of his zipper and then a clunk as his belt buckle hits the floor. A moment later he’s between the sheets with her.

She rolls onto her side, to face him. “Hello.”

“Ha. I know where that line leads.”

She leans closer and kisses him softly and chastely on the lips, two fingers just grazing his stubbly chin. “Not so far this time,” she tells him, not without some regret. “Thanks for being here.”

He kisses her this time, just as soft, but not quite so chaste, his tongue darting out to trace her bottom lip before he retreats. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else. Now roll over.”

She does as she’s told, flipping to her left side and wiggling back against his chest as he wraps his arm around her middle and rests his hand lightly on her stomach. “Is this okay?”

“Perfect,” she murmurs as her eyes drift closed.


	7. Chapter 7

_Mr. Gold wants to know when you’ll be in,_ reads the text message from Diane’s assistant.

She swears under her breath and quickly types back, _When I get there._ Then, with an audible groan, she backspaces it away, because it isn’t Megan’s fault that Eli is making her crazy, and the young woman shouldn’t have to face his wrath due to her non-answer. _By 10:30_ , she sends back instead. Which is exactly what she told him herself yesterday. She’s beginning to regret the day she agreed to take on his client’s case, future business and spying services be damned.

A loud rumble outside her car startles her attention away from her phone just as Kurt’s truck reverses into the parking spot beside her. He lifts a hand in greeting as he finishes manoeuvring the unwieldy vehicle into place and kills his engine.

It’s the first time she’s seen him since he left her place the day after her amnio. Not having not been home in weeks, she knew his work had piled up, so she hadn’t expected to see him either, and if she’s being honest with herself, she was glad for the time to sort through her feelings. Caught off guard by how good it had been to see him again after his weeks away, she had gotten closer to him than she intended. Dangerously close, in fact. That shouldn’t happen again, not without a better understanding of where they’re headed.

“Hey,” he says when they’re both out of their cars. “You ready to do this?”

“Beyond ready,” she affirms. “Whatever the test results may be, at this point I just need to know.”

* * *

After checking in at Dr. Harris’ reception desk, they take seats in the cheerfully decorated waiting room. Kurt picks up a parenting magazine and starts flipping through the pages, while she folds her hands in her lap, and looks around. To their left, a woman in her mid-twenties with a third trimester belly tries to corral a toddler intent on removing every single pamphlet from a display on a side table. To their right, a thirtyish woman talks quietly to man of about the same age, the two of them sporting matching wedding rings. Directly opposite her, a girl who looks like she could still be in high school examines the floor, connected to her phone with a pair of white earbuds.

With a sinking feeling, Diane realizes that every single pregnant woman in the room is at least a decade younger than she is.

"Kurt,” she whispers urgently, leaving closer to him. “Do you realize we could be the parents of most of these women? What the hell are we doing here? This is crazy. Isn't it? Isn't this crazy? We can't do this.” Discretely she indicates the woman with the toddler. “Good grief, I'm getting tired just watching her."

The little girl is now making a break for the open door to the back of the office as her mother chases after her.

"I think it's a little late for second thoughts now," Kurt says dryly. But when he actually looks over at her, his expression softens. "Hey. We’ll be fine. What we might lack in youth, we'll make up for in experience, right?"

“Kurt, I have no experience it this! I didn’t even babysit as a teenager.” Her stomach twists in on itself and she takes several deep breaths and shakes out her fingers, trying to slow her anxiety.

“Life experience, Diane. I’ve seen you hold entire courtrooms full of people in the palm of your hand. You manage a whole firm full of self-centred, unruly lawyers every day. You can handle one little kid no problem.” He reaches over and bops her gently on the knee with his fist. “You’ll be great.”

Something tells her those things may not require exactly the same skill sets, but she appreciates the pep talk nonetheless. Maybe he’s right; maybe there is some overlap.

She looks up as a new woman sits down in the row opposite them. Now that’s more like it; finally one that looks like she could be within a couple of years of her age. The woman notices her looking and they share a friendly smile. It would be nice to have a friend in a similar situation. Perhaps she should introduce herself. But just as she’s made up her mind to make some kind of overture, the woman stands and greets a largely pregnant twenty-something emerging from the exam area.

“Hey, mom,” the younger woman says. “Thanks for coming to picking me up.”

On the other side of the room, the toddler screams and hits her mother in the face.

Diane sighs.

* * *

“Good morning folks. I’m not going to keep you in suspense any longer,” Dr. Harris, says as he walks through the door of the exam room where Diane and Kurt are waiting. “Your amnio was clean, no concerns whatsoever, so you can breathe easy on that account.”

So intense is Diane’s relief that she folds nearly in half where she sits on the examination table. “Oh thank god.”

Across the room, Kurt beams, a broad spontaneous grin like nothing she has ever seen on his face before.

“Do you want to know the sex?” the doctor continues.

She shakes her head. She’s never going to do this again, and so she wants the full experience, delivery room surprise and all. “No, thank you. We’ll wait.”

Dr. Harris proceeds to put her through the standard exam she has come to expect for these appointments, probing and measuring, while asking her this and that about how she’s been feeling, and what she’s been experiencing.

“Are you feeling any movement?”

“No, should I be?” It’s something she’s been wondering. Her internet research has suggested she should start to feel something between sixteen and twenty-five weeks, and she’s almost exactly in the middle of that range now.

“Not necessarily,” he says, affixing a blood pressure cuff to her arm. "It will be awhile yet before it's strong enough to be felt from the outside, but you could start feeling something internally any time now. In fact, it’s possible you already have, and just didn't recognize it as such. In the earliest stages of fetal movement, what we call quickening, it can feel a lot like gas bubbles. I think I must be twenty weeks along every time I have Mexican food,” he jokes.

She laughs politely, then falls silent as he pumps up the cuff and listens through his stethoscope for a for a moment, before freeing her from the cuff without comment. Looking serious, he picks up her chart, running his finger over some piece of information, then makes a note.

“Your pressure is up,” he says, noticing her quizzical look. “Still within normal range, but higher than it’s been. How’s your stress level?”

“Not terrible,” she tells him, with a glance at Kurt. “I’ve been making changes at work, but it’s the nature of the beast that there will still be some stress, yes. I have a big trial that’s just getting started. And of course this whole situation is stressful in and of itself.”

The doctor nods. “That’s true enough and I expect even waiting for the test results for the last few days didn’t help matters. We’ll keep a close eye it for now; could just be a blip. Though in the meantime, I suggest watching your salt intake, getting regular, light exercise, and continuing to do what you can to manage your stress.”

* * *

“There you are. So, what’s our plan of attack?”

Diane enters her office at precisely 10:30, to find Eli stretched out on her sofa, hands behind his head. “I beg your pardon?” she asks, looking back, eyes narrowed, at her assistant who hadn’t warned her of his presence. The woman is very studiously not looking at her.

He sits up and plants his feet on the floor. “For the trial. It starts tomorrow, you know.”

“Of course I _know_ , Eli. But we’ve been over all this.” She wonders what it would take to stress reduce Eli right out of her office. Maybe Dr. Harris would write her a note. “Jury selection begins tomorrow. Julius will handle that, in conjunction with Kalinda, as needed. That will probably take two days, which means opening statements on Friday.”

“Which you will do.”

“Which I will do.” she confirms, hanging up her coat and walking around to sit behind her desk.

“And then I’ll need some of your time after court recesses, but before you leave the building to go over what you’re going to say to the press. I’ll have a statement mostly ready ahead of time but we need to hear what the plaintiffs’ attorneys say first before I can finalize it.”

“Fine,” she tells him, teeth gritted. He’s just doing his job, she reminds herself. “I’d like to see my script ahead of time, if you please.” She wouldn’t put it past him to slip in some glowing endorsement of the benefits of formula feeding in general and DNP’s product in particular, and she has no intention of speaking to any subject other than their client’s non-culpability in this particular suit. Choosing a feeding option is a very personal decision and she is not going to wade into that debate publicly.

He stands and gives a courtly little bow  “Yes ma’am, I will have it to you in the morning.”

* * *

"Oh, that was so good," Diane says, setting her fork down and leaning back in her chair, running her hand over her stomach contentedly. "Well worth the wait, even without any added salt. Thank you.”

Kurt inclines his head in acknowledgement. "You're not done, are you? I seem to remember something about chocolate cheesecake.”

In the instant before he spoke, she would have sworn she couldn't eat another bite, but as soon as she hears the word cheesecake, she needs it with an intensity normally reserved for more carnal pleasures.

"Mmmmm, oh god, I shouldn't, but..." She smiles wickedly. "I think I’m going to."

When the server returns, she orders the most decadent looking dessert on the menu, a sinful concoction of cheesecake, chocolate and whipped cream, while Kurt requests only a cup of coffee.

"Really, you're just going to sit there and watch me eat?" Secretly she had been hoping he would order something different from her so she could sample that too.

His lips quirk as he leans forward in his seat, his voice suddenly pitched gruff and low. "Well, I'm not one for sweets myself, but you know how much I like to watch.”

Parts of her normally unconcerned with dessert throb in response to the intently focused look on his face. It’s a look she’s seen before, and one that usually means very good things to come.

Swallowing, she looks away, picking up her water glass, taking a long drink. They’re on dangerous ground again, with him looking at her like _she_ is to be his dessert. A number of times during dinner she had thought to introduce a serious discussion about their future, but they’d been having such a nice time, and she hadn’t wanted to ruin it. After all, isn’t the most important thing that they get to know each other better?

The server arrives with her cheesecake and his coffee. “Enjoy,” the young man says, setting them on the table.

“We could,” Kurt replies, quietly enough that only she hears.

She lifts a forkful of dessert halfway to her mouth, then pauses, looking at him curiously. His expression is again a careful mask of neutrality and she understands that now that he’s stated his interest, he’s leaving the ball in her court.

There’s not even a question that she wants him - never has she not. Even now bits of her that should not be trusted with this decision are tingling in anticipation.

She thinks back to that morning at the doctor’s office, to his calm reassurance when she was feeling overwhelmed, and later to his joy at hearing the test results were clear. And before that, on the day of the test, his vow to stand by her even in the worst of worst case scenarios.

Is she being too legalistic, too focused on details that can be negotiated later if conflicting priorities or values arise? Maybe maintaining this connection they’ve always had is the first step in overcoming their differences. Maybe she just needs to have a little faith.

Still holding his gaze, she brings the fork to her lips and darts her tongue out to taste the sweet whipped cream, before putting the entire bite in her mouth.

* * *

She’s on him before the front door is even fully closed, pushing him back against the wall of the entryway and pressing her body fully against him. She’s not so big yet that any important parts are impeded in their quest for contact. Threading her hands through his hair, she holds his head in place as she kisses him, as his hands drop to her ass, bringing her to him just as tightly.

“Upstairs,” she manages to command, already breathless with need. She takes a step backwards and grabs his hands, trying to pull him towards the stairs.

Feet planted, she can’t budge him. His eyes are dark with desire, but his brow is furrowed. “Wait. Diane, just wait a second. Are you sure this is okay?”

It’s all she can do not to yank his arm from its socket in her frustration. “Yes. Yes, it’s fine.” His concern would be touching, if the timing of it wasn’t so exasperating. Unable to go without contact even long enough to reassure him, she plasters herself back against him, hands falling to his ass, as her lips brushing his neck as she speaks. “If anything, it should help my blood pressure, and…”  She punctuates each word with an open-mouthed kiss moving along his jawline, and ending at his mouth where she slides her tongue over his lips, then kisses him fully. “I’ve read that many women become very, intensely, sexual during their second trimester.”

“That so?” he growls. “And you’re only telling me this now after we’ve wasted half of it?” His hands are at her back, toying with the zipper of her dress.

“Right, so let’s not waste any more,” she breathes, twisting out of his arms and moving towards the stairs. “Bedroom.”

Somehow they make it up the stairs and into her room, though not without several long breaks to indulge roving hands seeking hot skin and lips leaving scorching kisses on any available surface.

And even as she glides her hands under his shirt, and grinds her hips against his, somewhere, deep in the back of her mind, questions still rise and fall about the wisdom of this, but right or wrong, she can’t focus on any of that now, so urgent is her need for him. So even as the thoughts skirt the edges of her conscience, she pulls almost frantically at the buttons of his shirt, her hands shaking with desire.

Once she has the his shirt off, he spins her around and moulds himself to her back, cock hard and insistent against her backside while he finishes what he started when they were still downstairs, pulling her her unzipped dress down her arms with much more patience than she had demonstrated.

She has to remind herself to breath as he skims his hands over her bra-covered breasts, just grazing her nipples, under the guise of lowering her dress past them. He doesn’t linger, continuing down her body, over her protruding abdomen and down to her lace and silk panties.

She sucks in a breath and leans into his touch, letting her eyes fall closed as he touches her through the fabric for a moment before removing his hands and letting the dress fall to the floor.

Unbearably eager, she turns in his arms and gets to work on his belt buckle, forcing it open and shoving his jeans and shorts down in one impatient motion. Wrapping her hand around his erection, she gives it several firm strokes. He hisses, then leans in to kiss her, breathing hard into her mouth.

Letting him go, she grabs his hips and walks them backwards until her knees hit the bed, their eyes locked together the entire time. When they get there, he hooks his thumbs into the sides of her panties and pushes them down while she shimmies just  a bit to help them fall.

Taking a step backwards, he watches her, eyes burning with undisguised want, and suddenly she feels a bit shy. Her body looks very different from the last time he saw her like this. Her breast are larger, true, but so is her stomach, and she’s sprouted dark veins where before there was only smooth, creamy skin. She looks down, her hands involuntarily rising to try and cover herself.

“No,” he growls  “Don’t do that. Jesus, Diane, don’t you know how beautiful you are? Even more now.”

Emboldened as much by the glazed look of desire in his eyes, as by his words of reassurance, she slowly drops her hands, carelessly caressing her own skin as she does, and letting him look his fill before turning and climbing onto the bed, putting a seductive sway in her ass. Deliberately, she arranges herself on her side facing away from him. Then, propping herself up on her elbow, she looks back over shoulder and smiles seductively.

He’s not long in accepting her unspoken invitation, following her onto the bed and stretching out behind her, one arm sliding carefully under her neck and the other resting lightly on her hip, which is not at all where she wants it to be.

She wiggles her ass back against him, searching for contact, trying to speed this process up. She’s already so worked up, any patience she may have had when they arrived home - already very little - is gone and she just needs him to touch her, to slide inside her, to fuck her, to make her come.

He hisses when she finds what she wanted and instinctively flexes his hips into hers, rubbing his erection against her ass. She takes advantage of his momentary distraction to take hold of his hand and move it between her legs.

He doesn’t need a second invitation, and his fingers slide lower into her heated folds. “Fuck,” he says in her ear. “You’re already soaked.”

She hums in agreement and reaches back between them, palming his cock and shifting until it’s wedged between her thighs. Instinctively, he thrusts forward, sliding his stiff length through her wetness. Just a slight change of angle and he would be inside her.

“Just a minute,” he tries to tell her, his wet fingers now circling around her clit, but she knows she won’t need any extra time or attention, not this time.

“Uh-uh, no, I don’t want to wait,” she tells him. “Do it.”

She doesn’t have to ask again. He adjusts his position and slides into her in one smooth stroke, groaning in her ear as the arm under her neck folds up across her chest to bind her tightly to him. “Fuck,” he curses in her ear. “So hot.”

She moans in reply, clenching her inner muscles as he resumes his purposeful touches, now accompanied by a steady thrusting rhythm. It’s not long before she feels her climax building and then cresting as she grabs his hand and holds it steady where she needs it. “Fuck, fuck,” she chants as she comes.

“You’re amazing,” he says in her ear after she quiets down. “That was so fucking sexy.” He’s still moving within her and she can tell he’s getting close himself from the low, throaty rasp in his voice. Lifting her leg over his calf and bending forward a little at the waist, she draws him in deeper, and with a few more quick, hard thrusts, he comes with a strangled groan.

After spending a few moments with his head resting against her shoulder as they catch their breath, he eases out of her and falls back against the mattress, while she lazily rolls over to curl against his side. Lifting his head, he kisses her, slowly and deeply at first, then tapering off to finish with a couple of soft, off-centre pecks.

Dropping back to the pillow again, he turns his head to face her. “I think I like second trimester,” he tells her.

She laughs and turns to look at him as well, taking in his blissy, post-coital grin.

_I could get used to this,_ she thinks. It’s kind of a frightening thought.


	8. Chapter 8

Diane grits her teeth against a sudden wave of nausea as she pours the cold remnants of her morning tea down the kitchen drain. Setting the mug aside, she leans on her arms over the sink as she waits for it to pass. She hasn’t felt this bad since leaving first trimester behind. Straightening up, she lifts her hand to her head and rubs her temples, hoping the painkiller she swallowed with her tea will ease her headache before she gets to court.

Leaving the kitchen, she goes into the living room and picks up her jacket from the back of the chair where she left it after coming downstairs. Sliding it on, she starts to button it, only to find the two sides of the jacket no longer meet across her middle. Jesus, she only wore this jacket last week.

Frustrated, she blinks back sudden tears. She can’t be bothered going back upstairs to change. Eli wants her pregnancy on display? Well, here it is in all its pudgy glory.

This is going to be a wonderful day; she can just tell.

* * *

“Here come the plaintiffs,” Julius whispers, nudging her with his elbow. Diane turns to see Fred Davis, a tall, grey-haired lawyer she knows slightly, advancing down the centre aisle, trailed by a solemn-looking young couple. They’re holding hands and the woman is carrying a small, pink, stuffed bear.

“The bear’s a nice touch,” Eli remarks casually, leaning over the wooden partition to talk to them.

She rolls her eyes. “Eli, they lost their _baby_. I don’t think it’s a pose.” She can’t even imagine what those parents have been through. To have your baby get sick, and then to realize that the cause of the illness is what you’ve been feeding her. She can’t even imagine the horror. She smooths a hand over her stomach.

After the judge enters and brings the courtroom to order, one of the young associates at the plaintiff’s table hits a few buttons on a laptop and an image of a tiny baby girl in a pink sleeper with a white bow on her mostly bald head appears on the smartboard at the front of the courtroom. An audible sob comes from the young mother at the other table and Diane instantly feels a sympathetic pricking behind her own eyes. One look at the jury tells her she’s not the only one having that reaction.

The lead attorney rises and points to the picture. “This is Daniella Torres when she was just four days old. Her mother, like most mothers, wanted to give her daughter the best start in life. She breastfed her for as long as she could, but because of the shameful lack of maternity benefits in this country, she had to return to work when Daniella was only six weeks old. Due to the nature of her job, pumping wasn’t an option, and she had to switch her daughter to infant formula. She did her research and decided that Mother’s Choice formula, manufactured by Devane Nutritional Products was the best choice for her family.”

The picture on the screen changes to a slightly older baby. “When Daniella was four months old, she got sick…”

He continues speaking for nearly an hour, and the story he tells is tragic, devastating, and Diane knows if she were on the jury, she would be inclined for find in favour of the parents for no reason other than that they’ve suffered enough. _My god_ , she thinks, _do I even want to win this one?_

When it’s her turn to speak, she stands and walks out in front of the jury. Eli catches her eye and frowns. After a beat, she capitulates and folds her hands over the top of her protruding abdomen. “What happened to Daniella Torres was a tragedy. No one is disputing this,” she begins, turning to look at the plaintiffs. “Mr and Mrs Torres, I am very, very, sorry for your loss. I can’t even begin to imagine…” Unintentionally, her voice cracks on the last word, and from the corner of her eye, she sees Eli smile.

Gritting her teeth, she turns back to the jury. “But, as awful as we all feel for the Torreses, we can’t lose sight of the facts. And the fact is, Devane Nutritional Products is not the one at fault here.”

* * *

“It went as well as we could expect, Eli,” Diane says as she, Julius, and Eli convene in the small conference room they’ve been assigned. “Of course the jury is going to sympathize with grieving parents over a large, impersonal corporation. I mean, don’t you? There was never any chance we were going to sway the jury during opening statements. If we get to them, it will be with the science and the safety protocols.” She exhales heavily and sits down at the table, rubbing her temples. The headache she’s been fighting all day is currently full throttle. “I’ll say it again - if DNP wants to minimize the damage to their reputation, they need to settle.”

He throws up his hands. “I don’t disagree, Diane, but they’re not going to do that. It’s some weird point of pride on the part of the chairman. They truly believe they’ve done nothing wrong. We have to play this out.”

She pulls her glasses off and tosses them to the table, squeezing her eyes shut. “Fine,” she says when she opens them again. “Any changes to the statement?”

Silently, he slides a piece of paper across the table. She skims through it, finding nothing egregiously offensive. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.” Her feet are killing her, swollen and pinched in her shoes from too long on her feet. She just wants this day to be over. And she promised Kurt she would stay out at the farm that night, so she still has a long drive in front of her.

They exit the conference room with Diane in the lead and the two men following close behind her. As predicted, the press is waiting for them outside on sidewalk in front of the courthouse.

With one last death glare at Eli for getting her into this, she approaches the cluster of reporters who are already thrusting microphones at her. “Good afternoon. My name is Diane Lockhart; I’m one of the attorneys for Devane Nutritional Products.”

* * *

The barn doors stand open, spilling light into the deepening twilight when Diane pulls up the long driveway to Kurt's farm a few hours later. Parking her car near the house, she walks across the gravel towards the open doors. The muffled gunshot she hears halfway to her destination confirms Kurt’s whereabouts.

Under the assumption that sneaking up behind a man with a firearm is never a good idea, she presses the doorbell despite the open doors. She can hear the buzzer from where she stands, and after a brief wait, Kurt appears, his safety glasses still on his face and hearing protection hanging from his neck.

"Hey," she says, moving to meet him halfway. "You're working late."

"Yeah. Still not completely caught up from being away. How was court?"

"Meh." She holds up her hand, palm down, and wobbles it back and forth. "I've had better days."

He sets aside his ear and eye protection and approaches her, holding his arms open. Gratefully, she falls into them, wrapping her arms around his waist and laying her head on his shoulder.

"Tough case?" he asks, rubbing her back.

To her horror, she feels tears pricking at her eyes. She can’t cry about this case, not in front of him. The last thing she wants is to try and explain how it’s making her feel, knowing full well he wouldn’t approve of her having taken it on in the first place "No. It's essentially just product liability, but... Ugh. I think it's just that I'm not feeling very well today."

He pulls back to look at her and she knows he sees more than she wants him to. "What’s wrong?” he asks carefully. “Do you need to see a doctor?"

"Oh, no. No, it's nothing too out of the ordinary. I've had a headache all day and my stomach is a bit iffy, that's all." She smiles and leans in for a kiss, but he refuses it, pulling his head back out of reach.

"You don't usually feel sick anymore, do you?" he asks, concerned.

She forces a smile. "I haven't for awhile, but I don't think that means it can't still come and go. Or maybe it's just something I ate, who knows." She tries again to kiss him, and this time he allows it, tipping his head down and moving his mouth gently in concert with hers.

“Why don’t you go inside and lay down,” he suggests when they part. “I’ll finish up in here and be there in a few minutes.”

“Don’t rush on my account,” she tells him, but truthfully, she doesn’t mean it. She wants nothing more from this night than to lay down somewhere, safe and warm with his arms around her.

Luckily, he doesn’t look like he believes her anyway. “The door’s open. Go.”

* * *

He finds her twenty minutes later, curled up on the couch with a book, a throw pillow behind her head and a crocheted afghan pulled haphazardly over her tired body.

“Finally getting around to that Reagan bio?” he asks, straight-faced, a reference to the nervous, inane comment she made the day she came to tell him she was pregnant.

“Funny. No.” She holds up the battered mystery she had chosen from his shelf.

He nods in approval. “That’s a good one.” He moves to the fireplace and crouches down, laying wood on the hearth.

She pulls a face. “Do you mind if we skip the fire? I don’t think I would do well with the smell right now.”

“Oh. Sure.” He sets the wood back in the bin and straightens up, pushing off from his knees with a groan. “Can I get you anything? Did you eat?”

Food is the absolute last thing she wants, but of course she has to eat. “Maybe just some toast?”

He disappears into the kitchen and she goes back to her book until he returns several minutes later with a plate of toast and a mug of what smells suspiciously like her preferred brand of ginger tea. Looking up at him, her eyes trace his face from the hair swooping back from his forehead down to the late day scruff on his chin. _That sweet man_.

"So, I told Miranda and her folks last night," he tells her, passing her the plate and setting the mug on the end table next to her.

She moves to sit up to make room for him on the couch, but he lays his hand on her calf to stop her, then picks up her feet and the afghan together and sits under them both.

"Oh? How did that go?" She picks up a piece of toast and takes a half-hearted bite.

"Well it involved a lot of ribbing and back-handed compliments regarding my virility, but they’re happy for us. They want to meet you. Miranda's upsold you pretty good." He slides his hands under the afghan and up and down her shins a couple of times, then picks up her foot, pushing the blanket aside.

She nods thoughtfully as she chews her toast. "Sure," she says, swallowing. "I'd like to meet your friends. Maybe dinner after this trial is over."

He slides his knuckle firmly along her arch until she moans aloud. "Oh god, that's good. Don't stop."

He smirks and does as she asks, rubbing her tired and swollen feet as she finishes her toast and tea. By the time they're both gone, she's feeling more human than she had all day. Even her headache is finally receding.

While he takes her dishes to the kitchen, she gets up and walks over to the staircase, peering up the steep, hardwood curve. She’s been up and down them numerous times, but she never realized before just how...treacherous...they look. They’ll need to do something about that.

“Let’s go upstairs and see this baby’s room you want to set up,” she suggests when he returns.

He joins her in front of the stairs and takes her hand, directing her back over to the couch. “In a minute. Sit down, let's talk." His face is a mask, and immediately she's on her guard, sinking back onto the couch. "What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I've been thinking about things, about our situation, and I wanted to run something by you, that’s all. But if you're not feeling up to it..."

Ah. Their situation. She thinks she knows what this is about; she’s been expecting it actually, and while she's not entirely sure she _is_ up for the discussion tonight, it's probably better to get it out in the open. They had talked about marriage once before, briefly, when he wanted her to run off to Costa Rica with him. It would never have worked then, and now, well, now the stakes are too high to rush into anything. Surely he’ll understand that.  "No, no, go ahead. What are you thinking?"

He leans over, elbows on his knees and turns his head towards her. "Well, like we talked about before, I'm not getting any younger, and I don't want to spend the kid's whole childhood on the road, so I'm thinking I might sell the business."

Her mouth falls open. That was the last thing she was expecting him to say. "Sell your business? But then what would you do?"

"Well, I might keep teaching part-time, if I could fit something in, but mostly I thought I could be a dad."

She's flabbergasted. "You...you want to be a stay-at-home father?"

His eyes narrow at her question and his tone grows defensive. “Diane, I was always going to sell within the next five years. This is just moving up the schedule a bit. I’ll make more than enough on the sale to live on. You won’t have to support me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

"No! Kurt, that’s not… That didn’t even cross my mind.” She turns toward him in her seat. “How would this even work? Do you want to move in with me in the city?" He hates Chicago; she can't imagine him ever being willing to live there full-time.

Apparently neither can he, judging by the sharp bark of laughter that follows her question. "Fuck, no. I was thinking you could move in here. I mean, do you really want to raise a baby in the city?”

Her face must broadcast her opinion on that idea because he holds up his hand. “Look, if it’s this house you don’t like, we can find something else, something more...modern." He pronounces the word like it contains four letters. “I won’t really need the barn if I sell the business, but I thought it might be nice to get some livestock. Good experience for the kid.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. _Livestock?_

“Not a lot, just a couple goats, some chickens.” He shrugs. “Maybe a pony.”

“A pony,” she repeats faintly, dropping her head in her hands. “Kurt I can’t live way out here full-time,” she says, looking up after a moment. “Even if I wanted to, the commute would eat up too much of my time. I’m sorry, but it’s not going to work. The baby and I will live in the city.”

He scoffs. “The city's no place to raise a kid. They need room to run around. Fresh air to breathe.”

"I was raised in the city," she reminds him. "There's art, culture. Diversity. Excellent private schools."  
  
“And who is going to look after them while you’re at work for twelve hours a day? Some fancy private daycare?”

"No,” she tells him wearily. “I’m going to hire a nanny."

He snorts. "A nanny. You'd rather our kid be raised by some stranger instead of me."

Her headache is coming back with a vengeance, and this is going nowhere fast. She lets out a breath. "Look, Kurt, I was wrong. I’m not up for talking about this right now. I just...I need to think about it. Can we table this for now? Please?"

“Fine,” he says, holding up his hands in surrender, but she knows. It is not fine.

He picks up the television remote and stabs the set to life, leaning back on the couch with his arms crossed over his chest, watching as the logo for the local evening news flashes on the screen.

She retrieves her mystery novel and folds herself into the far corner of the couch, pretending to read while her mind whirls through various scenarios, considering what might be possible and what just isn’t.

About fifteen minutes into the broadcast, he nudges her foot to get her attention. “Hey. You’re on TV.”

 _Shit_. With a sinking feeling, she sets the book in her lap. Sure enough, there she is, her pregnant form fully on display for the media, reciting the statement Eli had written for her.

“What case is this?” Kurt asks, picking up the remote and hiking up the volume.

She doesn’t answer. By the furrows in his forehead she can she he’s already putting the pieces together.

He turns to her, eyes narrowed. “You’re representing that formula company that killed a baby?”

“They did not kill a baby, Kurt,” she exclaims, her ire rising, probably along with her blood pressure. “It was a horrible tragedy, but it wasn’t our client’s doing. And even if it was, everyone deserves representation; you know that.”

He waves that off. “Fine, whatever. But why are you the one talking to the press? You usually avoid that.”

She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. He puts it together in under a minute, turning to her again in disbelief.

“They wanted you to represent them publicly because you’re pregnant. They’re using you, using our baby to make themselves look good. And you’re letting them. Jesus fucking Christ, Diane, what is wrong with you?”

She stares at him. Then, without another word she gets up and walks out of the room, grabbing her purse from the table as she goes. She has her coat on before he appears in the doorway separating the living room and entryway. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” she says without looking at him.

He exhales harshly. “Don’t be stupid, Diane. It’s forty miles in the dark, and you’re not feeling well. Take my bed; I’ll sleep on the couch.”

When she finally does look at him, she finds no more anger, only her own fear and worry reflected back at her through his tired hazel eyes.

She wonders if he’s thinking the same thing she is. Maybe they really are too different to make this work.

“No, Kurt. I’m going home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DON'T PANIC


	9. Chapter 9

“Okay. Yes, thank you. I’ll see you then.” Diane ends her call with Dr. Harris’ office, and pushes off the wall of the courthouse hallway. When she had thrown up again that morning and couldn’t even say whether it was from renewed morning sickness or the result of the ever worsening pain in her head, she knew she couldn’t put off a visit to the doctor any longer. Whatever is wrong with her is starting to feel like something more than regular pregnancy malaise.

Squinting against the bright fluorescent light, she walks the short distance to their assigned courtroom. Just as she’s about to push through the heavy wooden door, a familiar form far down the corridor catches her eye. Kurt hadn’t mentioned he had a case in the city this today, but then, their texts over the past week and a half haven’t been exactly chatty - mostly two word enquires after her health, followed by two word answers, and often not wholly truthful ones at that.

He doesn’t appear to have noticed her, and he’s out of sight again before she can even consider trying to get his attention. She should text him probably, let him know about the doctor’s appointment. Honestly, she should have mentioned before now that she still isn’t feeling well, she thinks guiltily. She'll do it during the mid afternoon recess.

Once inside the courtroom, she takes a seat next to Julius and in front of Eli, who has been inhabiting the first row of visitors seating since the first day of the trial.

“Good morning gentlemen,” she says.

Eli, glued to his phone, mumbles something unintelligible.

“Morning,” Julius replies, flipping through his notes. “Hey, are you all right?” he adds when he actually looks up at her. “You don’t look so good.”

“Thanks,” she says dryly, taking her leather portfolio from her bag and setting it on the table.

“Sorry, but seriously, you feeling okay?” His concern is written across his face.

She shakes her head, then instantly regrets it, the motion creating a stabbing pain behind her eye. “No, not really. I have a headache.”

“If you want to leave,” he offers sympathetically, “I can handle this.”

She glances at Eli, who is suddenly paying attention. “No, it’s fine. But thank you.”

Court comes to order and after a handful of administrative issues, Julius calls their first witness, the biochemist they interviewed several weeks earlier.

She slides her glasses on and attempts to read the chart loaded on the smartboard near the witness box. It’s quite blurry and she’s about to signal Julius when she realizes that he is blurry as well. She blinks a few times, then squeezes her eyes tightly closed, opening them again to no effect. Taking her glasses off, she cleans them with the tail of her blouse under the table. Not much better. Perhaps this headache is actually a migraine. She’s never had one before, but they come with vision disturbances, don’t they? Resigning herself to following the complicated testimony aurally, she sits back and folds her hands on the table.

Direct examination complete, Julius retakes his seat, and Fred Davis stands to begin his cross. _Nice,_ she writes on her notepad, sliding it over to Julius, who nods in acknowledgment. He got what they needed from the witness.

Davis is now peppering her with questions about her family, presumably trying to determine whether she has personal experience with infant feeding.

Diane starts to stand. “Objection, Your Honour,” she says, or rather, she tries to say, before her vision distorts and the room tips alarmingly. Lurching forward, she catches herself on the edge of the table, then remains very still, her eyes squeezed shut, afraid to move lest she fall, vomit, or both. Her head throbs in time to her pounding heart.

“Diane!” Julius exclaims, standing up and taking hold of her arms and easing her back down into her seat.

“Ms. Lockhart, are you all right?” the judge asks. “Do you need a recess?”

“Yes, please, Your Honour,” Julius answers for her.  

At some point Eli appears on her other side. “Diane,” he asks her urgently. “What’s happening?”

“My head,” she whispers, keeping her eyes closed. “My head hurts. I can’t see properly. I think I should go to the hospital.”

“Okay,” Julius tells her. “Sit tight. I’m calling 911 right now.”

She’s vaguely aware of the judge calling for the courtroom to be cleared, followed by the shuffle of the jury being escorted out. Her head feels like someone is taking an icepick to it and when she does venture to open her eyes, her vision has gaping holes in it, like she’s looking through moth eaten fabric. It’s so disorienting, she immediately closes them again.

“You,” she hears the judge order someone. “Go wait for the ambulance.”

“The paramedics are on their way,” Julius assures her. “Can I get you anything? A glass of water?”

“Kurt,” she says, suddenly remembering the flash of silver hair and brown suede in the hall. “He’s here somewhere, testifying.”

“Okay. Do you know what room he’s in?”

She tries to remember what rooms are in that direction, but she can’t concentrate well enough to picture the courthouse layout in her head. “Down the hall off this one, towards the rear of the building. I’m not sure which room.”

“Her partner’s a ballistics guy,” she hears Julius says to someone else. “Do you know of any trial in that area that would need one.”

“Courtroom 3,” the judge answers. “Armed robbery. What’s the name? I’ll go poke my head in.”

“McVeigh,” Eli provides. “Kurt McVeigh. Mid-fifties, greying hair, moustache.” If she weren’t in so much pain, Diane would worry how he knows all of that, but as it is, she’s just grateful he speaks so she doesn’t have to.

Leaning forward, she rests her head on folded arms on the table, becoming only vaguely aware of her surroundings as she tries to breathe through the pain and nausea.

After some period of time she can’t define, she feels a gentle hand on her back. She opens her eyes briefly, long enough to confirm what she already knows. “Kurt.”

He sits down in the chair beside her, carefully rubbing her back. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

* * *

“Preeclampsia.” Dr. Chen pronounces the word with a certain amount of finality.

She knows what that is, of course, had read about it during her numerous and masochistic internet binges centering around All The Things That Can Go Wrong. Now that the pain and nausea are finally receding it seems so obvious. “I should have come in earlier,” she says. “I should have known something was wrong.”

“Well, that’s one of the difficult things about this condition. Its early symptoms are virtually all also regular symptoms of pregnancy - nausea, aches and pains, weight gain, and so forth. Don’t be too hard on yourself. The important thing is we caught it, and now we can manage it. And your baby is fine.”

She had never been so relieved in all her life to see that steady throbbing heartbeat and twitchy little limbs on the ultrasound machine in the ER. If something had happened to her baby because she was ignoring symptoms, she would never have forgiven herself.

“The condition is caused by gestational hypertension,” the doctor continues. “Essentially, your blood pressure was sky high, which was the root cause of all your other symptoms. Now that you’re medicated, your pressure is coming down and you should be starting to feel better.” She raises her eyebrows. “Yes?”

Diane confirms this with a careful nod. Her head is still achy, but not nearly on the same level. It’s more like the ghost of a headache now, a persistent discomfort behind her eyes that makes her want to close them for an extended period of time.

“We also gave you painkillers and anti-nausea meds, so they’re helping too but, I expect, wiping you out, so I’m not going to get into much detail right now. We’re going to keep you overnight and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

“But if she just stays on the medication, she’ll be fine?” Kurt asks, his face still creased with deep worry lines. He hasn’t left her side since the courthouse.

“Not exactly. She will stay on the medication, but you have to understand, this is a serious condition, and the only thing that will cure it is delivery.”

“But I’m only twenty-three weeks!” Diane protests. “It’s too soon.”

“Yes, which is why we need to do our best to keep this under control for as long as we can, to give baby time to grow. If we can get to thirty-five weeks, that’s considered full-term and we can induce at that point. But it’s going to be a collaborative process to get there, and we all need to play our parts.”

“We will,” Kurt answers for both of them. And they will, of course she’ll do whatever she has to keep her baby healthy. She’s just so tired, it’s hard to for her to comprehend what that actually means.

“The biggest thing is as of right now, I’m recommending you go on modified bed rest. Again, we’ll talk about what that means tomorrow, but essentially, your life needs to slow down dramatically over the next three months.”

“Bedrest?” That wakes her up a bit. “But, how… I mean, I live alone.”

“Well, too bad there isn’t someone else who is just as invested in a good outcome here, who might be able to help you. Oh wait.” The doctor looks pointedly at Kurt.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, more to Diane than the doctor.

* * *

The drive home from the hospital the next day passes mostly in silence. The overnight bag on the floor by her feet seems to indicate Kurt intends on remaining with her, but how he feels about that, really, is anyone's guess. His expression, blank and impassive, tells her nothing.

Closing her eyes to the slow-moving city traffic, she leans her head against the smooth, cool glass of the truck’s window. An endless list of everything she needs to do scrolls through her mind - cases to reassign, phone calls to make, clients to reassure. Anxiety wells up in her gut and she breathes steadily against it.

“It’ll be okay, Diane. They can survive without you for a few months.”

She opens her eyes. “How did you…?”

He snorts. “Lucky guess.”

She exhales heavily and straightens up in her seat. “I need to call Will as soon we get home.”

“You need to _rest_.” His fingers tap against the steering wheel as they pause for a red light.

“I will, I just have a few things that need immediate attention and then I’ll take the rest of the week off.”

He turns his head to her, then quickly back to the road. “The rest of the week? Diane, you heard the doctor.”

“Yes,” she interrupts impatiently. “ _I_ did. Did you? She said I could continue to work as long as I stay off my feet as much as possible, and don’t do anything stressful.”

“Your entire job is stressful.”

She shoves down her building annoyance. He’s just scared, she reminds herself. They’ve been here before. Once he sees she’s not going to push herself, he’ll relax. “That’s just not true, Kurt. There are many low-stress things I can do from home - research, writing briefs, administrative tasks like approving expenses. You can’t expect me to just lay in bed for the next three months. Not even the doctor recommends that.”

He glances at her, eyes tired, then cuts the wheel, pulling the truck into an illegal parking spot half a block from her house.

“Let’s get you inside.”

* * *

She’s on the couch, talking on the phone to Will when Kurt returns from moving the truck.

“I’m fine,” she promises her partner, lifting a hand in response to Kurt’s nodded greeting. “We’re both fine.  Yes, okay. I’ll see you Monday. Thanks, Will.”

“There,” she tells him. “Will is going to assign Alicia Florrick to take my place in the DNP suit, which should appease Eli, and he’ll work with my assistant to cover off whatever else I have this week. Then on Monday, he’ll come over here and we’ll work out a longer term plan.”

Kurt only harrumphs in response, then disappears up the stairs with his overnight bag. It’s not exactly an acknowledgement that she’s doing her best to follow doctor’s orders, but it’s the closest she’s going to get at the moment.

She lays her head back against the couch and closes her eyes. This minor tension is nothing compared to the actual elephant in the room that is their disagreement about the future, and that issue is not going to disappear simply by leaving it alone. Medically speaking, she doesn’t have the luxury of letting it continue to cause her anxiety.

“Come sit with me,” she says, opening her eyes and sitting up straighter when she hears him jog back down the stairs.

Eyes narrowing in suspicion, he does as she asks, sprawling onto the opposite end of the couch, one arm slung along the back.

“Kurt, I think I owe you an apology,” she tells him. “I dismissed your plan to sell the business and stay home with the baby without really considering whether or how we could make it work. I would _not_ rather have a nanny raise our child than you. I wouldn’t. I’m sorry.”

He exhales heavily. “Look, Diane, we don’t need to talk about this right now. You should be resting. I shouldn’t have even brought it up when I knew you weren’t feeling well. That’s probably why…” He waves his hand in general direction.

She’s dumbfounded. “You think this is your fault?”

He doesn’t answer, just leans over and picks up the television remote, turning it over and over in his hand but not actually pushing any buttons.

She turns in place to face him, tucking one leg up underneath her. “Kurt this is not your fault. It would have happened no matter what we did. In fact, if anyone is at fault here, it’s me for ignoring the symptoms for so long. If I had gone in and had my blood pressure checked when I first started feeling poorly, they could have caught it much sooner. But I was busy trying to get through this trial, and…”

“And you were worrying about things with me.”

This time she doesn’t correct him. She can’t. They both know it’s true. She lifts her hands in a tiny gesture of futility and lets them fall back to her lap.

He straightens up and then leans over, his elbows on his knees, the remote still dangling from his hand. “Do you want me here, Diane? Would you be more comfortable with someone else here helping you out?”

She’s flummoxed. “Don’t you want to be here? I know you hate the city, but…” _But I thought you would want to be with us._ She doesn’t say the final words aloud, hating herself a little for how needy they sound.

“I want to be here, but not if it’s going to stress you out,” he says seriously.

“It’s not.”

“Okay.” He nods ever so slightly. “Good.”

“Good,” she starts to agree, satisfied for now and ready to set aside any further heavy conversation in favour of a nap, when she feels an odd rippling sensation deep inside her abdomen. Her brows knit together and she falls silent sliding a hand over the spot. The feeling comes again.

She looks over to him. “Kurt! I just felt something.”

“Hey," he says gently. "Now how about that. First time?”

“First time that I’m sure.” A couple of times over the past week, she felt what could have been something, or could have been nothing, but she had been too busy or feeling too poorly to think much about it. But this time, it’s unmistakably something the likes of which she’s never felt before. Her child, making its presence known. “Only a few more weeks and you’ll be able to feel it too.”

A grin spreads across his face. “Looking forward to it.”

They’re quiet then for several minutes, both, perhaps, thinking of all the future firsts to come and whether they’ll be together to share them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay strong, friends


	10. Chapter 10

Diane finishes typing the last sentence of the brief she’s spent the afternoon on, then closes the lid of her laptop with a snap. She’ll review it later before sending it back to the partner who requested it, but she’s knows it’s fine. Better than fine, because it’s associate’s work completed by a senior partner, but at least it helps pass the time during these long, dull days at home.

The work itself reminds her of her early days working under Jonas Stern, churning out briefs at a pace that defied linear time. She wonders what old Jonas would think of her now. She sighs and moves the computer from her lap to the coffee table. Probably nothing good.

The worst part is, she isn’t sure her younger self wouldn’t agree with him. Even with the busy work, she’s bored out of her mind, and she often feels like she’s losing touch with some essential part of herself. It’s for a good cause, she tells herself for the thousandth time, adjusting her position on the couch and reaching for her water glass. And it’s only for another month.

_Another month of bedrest, but then there’s maternity leave,_ younger Diane reminds her. _You probably won’t have time even for first year associate work then._

I’ll be busy with the baby then, she argues, taking a drink of water. I won’t have time to be bored.

_Diapers, and breastfeeding, and crying, oh yes, how intellectually stimulating._

She swallows her water and flops back against the couch. What the hell is wrong with her? Shouldn’t she be looking forward to having some bonding time with her baby? She slides a hand over her stomach. “Sorry, baby,” she whispers. “It’s not your fault I don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into.”

The doorbell rings, interrupting her introspection and making her jump. The sound is immediately followed up by the rattle of the doorknob and then by her partner’s voice calling her name.

Instantly, she brightens. “In here, Will,” she calls back. They have long since given up on formalities like her answering the door in person.

“Hey partner,” he says, coming around the corner. In one hand he holds up what looks like a bottle of champagne, with two glasses in the other.

“What’s all this?” she says, laughing at the flourish with which he sets the items on the coffee table.

“This is a celebration, is what it is. We just got the word from DNP’s global parent that they’re awarding us all the business for their American subsidiaries, thanks to that formula suit we won.”

She gasps, eyes widening. “Will, that’s wonderful!” With effort, she straightens up and and swings her legs over the edge of the couch to sit like a normal person. “That’s, what, thirty million in annual billings?”

“At least. We’ll need to hire more associates in both Chicago and New York. God! It’s incredible, Diane. I’ve got my licence back, we’ve got all this new business. I’m completely in my element. I’ve never been happier.”

He must notice something in her expression, because he immediately grimaces and backtracks. “I mean, of course I wish you were around to share it with. That’s why I’m here. This is both of our victory.” He picks up the bottle of sparkling cider and sets to work on the overwrap.

Her fingers grip the seat cushions as she watches him. “That’s very generous of you, Will, given that I, at least, worked on the case that brought us this embarrassment of riches.”

Will’s head jolts up, startled by her acerbic tone, and immediately she’s contrite. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.” And it was, but she can’t help the jealousy that’s still churning low in her gut. She and Julius had worked hard on that case and she hadn’t even gotten to share in the thrill of the verdict coming back in their favour. That honour had gone to Alicia, whose kids are almost grown and who still has her whole career stretching out in front of her, impediment-free.

Will’s mouth quirks into an apologetic smile, almost as if he can read her mind. Probably, after all this time, he can. The bottle finally open, he pours two glasses and hands her one. “To getting the band back together soon,” he says. “I miss you, Diane.”

She clinks her glass with his and takes a sip, closing her eyes and pretending they’re in her office at night, looking out over the lights of the city, celebrating their victory over the forces of evil, or at least the State’s Attorney’s office.

Are those days really gone forever? Even with a live-in nanny, she won’t be able to keep those kinds of hours anymore, but there is another option, one that’s been looking better and better to her the longer she’s been home.

“I miss you too,” she admits, opening her eyes again. Not only him, but everything about her professional life - the politics, the pressure, the adrenaline rush of pushing herself to the limit and winning. God, she even misses sniping with David Lee.

“Well, I hope you find a babysitter that will work around the clock.” He laughs. “Honestly, I just can’t see you as a nine-to-five mommy tracker. Or worse, carting the kid everywhere you go, like Patti Nyholm.

She rolls her eyes heavenward. “Oh good lord. Trust me, neither can I. But, would you believe Kurt wants to be a stay at home father? He’s talking about selling the ballistics company.”

Will purses his lips. “Well, I guess he’s not that far off retirement anyway. I wouldn’t have thought of him as the nurturing type though.”

She smiles, looking down at the floor. “You’d be surprised.” From the way he’s been taking care of her over the last two months, he’s proven to be far more nurturing than she ever expected, in his own gruffly patient way.

“Well,” Will say. “Maybe that would be for the best, then. It’s good at least one of you is parental.”

“Yeah. Maybe so,” Diane says quietly, ignoring the sudden stab of pain at his words.

_Truth hurts_ , younger Diane observes.

* * *

Her mother was a refined, well-bred woman, she remembers, touching the photograph with the tip of her fingernail, but no one would ever have called her nurturing, least of all her only daughter. Unfortunately for both of them, she had had little choice but to pretend. Women of her time and social standing stayed home with their children. It was just the way of things then. They had help, certainly, but they didn’t have careers or intellectual outlets of their own. Perhaps if she had, she would have been happier.

She hears the front door open just as she turns the page in her photo album. “Hello,” she calls out.

“Hey,” Kurt replies as he comes around the corner still wearing his sports jacket and carrying his battered leather portfolio.

“You’re back early.”

“Yep. Case settled. What’s that?” He nods at the book in her lap.

“Nothing,” she says, closing the album and setting it aside. “Just some old photos.”

He looks about to ask more questions, but then simply nods. “If you’re up to it, I thought we could head out to the country now. Beat the traffic.”

She purses her lips, considering. If they leave now, it would cut the drive time in half, but she’s not packed yet, so maybe they should just wait until after dinner. On the other hand, Kurt’s bathroom has a beautiful old claw foot bathtub and she’s been dying to try out.

“Okay,” she says, levering herself up off the couch. “Give me ten minutes to get ready.”

* * *

An hour later they’re walking through the front door of the farmhouse, Diane carrying the bag of groceries that will become their dinner, and Kurt carrying both their overnight bags.

She goes straight to the kitchen to unpack the groceries while he takes the bags upstairs, knowing she only has about five minutes to do something useful before he finds her and makes her put her feet up.

The backyard is visible through the kitchen window, the wide, flat expanse of grass just perfect for the playset he told her about months ago, the plans for which now litter the dining table. She pictures them outside on a warm summer day, a small faceless child climbing a ladder to a slide, Kurt behind them, big hands poised to help when needed, but not interfering with budding independence. She wonders where she fits into the picture. Blinking the image away, she reaches into the bag for the styrofoam tray of steak.

As predicted, just as she removes the last item from the shopping bag and sets it on the countertop, he appears behind her, fingertips grazing her hip as he passes.

“Out of my kitchen, woman,” he commands gruffly.

Almost as if in response, the baby kicks. She laughs. “Your child objects to you ordering us around,” she says, grabbing his hand and placing it on her stomach.

“Nah, that’s a kick of agreement,” he says when he feels the next one. “Go.” His tone is brusque, but he’s smiling.

Leaving him to his dinner preparations, she wanders into the other room and settles onto the couch, turning sideways to put her feet up and retrieving the book she left on the coffee table last weekend.

Before too long, the delicious smell of grilling meat wafts out from the kitchen and her stomach growls audibly. Finally, he emerges from the kitchen with plates of steak and vegetables and joins her on the couch. They eat in companionable silence for several minutes before he sets his fork down, takes a drink of water, and clears his throat.

“So, ah. I may have a buyer for the business.” Not looking at her, he picks up his fork and stabs a chunk of tomato.

They haven’t discussed his plan to sell since the night he first brought it up. His words now set her nerves buzzing. “Really? I didn’t realize you were that far along in the process,” she offers carefully.

He sets his fork down again and turns his head to her. “Yeah. I’ve been talking to a few people, spreading the word. This is a former student, looking to go out on his own. He heard I was considering selling, and he made me an offer. I was hoping you could have a look at the contract.”

She must be staring, because his eyes narrow and he straightens in his seat. “Look, Diane, I know we still have a lot of things to talk out, but either way, selling is what I want to do. I don’t want to be on the road anymore.”

She doesn’t answer right away, afraid whatever she says will commit her to something she doesn’t know for sure she wants. But that’s silly, isn’t it? It’s his business to do with as he pleases.

“Okay,” she says finally, forcing a smile she hopes is reassuring. “Sure. I’ll look at the contract.” Part of her wants to tell him it’s fine, good even, that she understands now that his plan is for the best, but the words stick in her throat. How can he find it so easy to make the sacrifice she can’t even fathom?

He blinks when the expected disagreement doesn’t materialize, and inclines his head slightly. “Okay. Good. Thanks.” Picking up his fork again, he pops the tomato into his mouth.

It’s because, she realizes suddenly, to him it’s no sacrifice at all.

Seemingly considering the topic closed, he reaches for the remote and taps on the television. In an instant, Alicia Florrick’s face fills the screen, a clip from her statement to the press a several weeks earlier following the DNP verdict. The story itself is about Peter, nothing that concerns the firm, but the image of her associate, hair blowing in the wind as she talks about what should have been Diane’s victory, prods her to action.

Inhaling deeply in an attempt to quell some of the disquiet in her heart, she speaks over the buzz of the newscast. “I think you were right, Kurt. The baby should live here, with you, in the country.”

He looks over at her, forehead creasing, then picks up the remote and snaps the television off.

“What about you?”

She wraps her arms around herself, leaning away. “I don’t know, yet. I’ll figure it out as we go, I suppose. But you were right. If the baby has a parent ready and willing to be with them full time, then that’s what should happen. What kind of mother would I be if I stood in the way of that?”

He looks at her appraisingly, then reaches over, pulling on her arm until she lets him take her hand and fold it between both of his. “Diane. I’m not trying to replace you, you know that, right? The kid will still need its mother, no matter where we live, or who works at what.”

“I know.” A sudden prickle of tears behind her eyes startles her. There’s nothing to be upset about, she reminds herself, blinking rapidly. She’s acknowledging her own limitations, and doing what’s best for her baby. That’s a good thing.

“Do you have a computer in here anywhere?” she asks suddenly, pulling her hand from his grasp. “We should get started on that room.”

After clearing their dishes, Kurt retrieves a laptop from his office and they go upstairs to what is currently his spare bedroom. He sets to work measuring window and wall space, while Diane sits on the bed and shops for window coverings, paint colours and furniture, pausing to get his input as needed and pushing everything from her mind that isn’t related to colours or fabrics.

Having done this once already at her place, they have it down to a science, and after a hour or so, Kurt has a list of things to pick up in town, and Diane has placed several orders with online specialty retailers. It hasn’t exactly been the shopping experience she pictured in the beginning, but it’s certainly less exhausting this way. Even so, she her energy is beginning to wane. Closing the laptop, she slides it off her lap and leans back against the pillows.

“Had enough?” Kurt asks gruffly.

“Mm-hmm,” she agrees, closing her eyes. She hadn’t even gotten to try out that bathtub, but she would probably drown if she tried it now. It will still be there in the morning.

“Come on,” Kurt says, extending his hand. “I put your bag in the bedroom.”

She accepts his help to her feet, swaying slightly as her head swims from the sudden change in position. Sometimes the medication keeping her blood pressure in check seems to go a little too far in the other direction. Kurt’s arm quickly appears around her waist. “Whoa,” he says. “You okay?”

She catches hold of his other arm to steady herself. “Yes, fine. Sorry. Just tired, I think.”

He seems to accept her answer, but doesn’t remove his arm from her waist, just turning her gently until she’s flush against him. He joins his hands behind her back, and holds her silently until she looks up at him. She doesn’t know what he’s searching for in her eyes, but she tries to give it to him, holding his gaze steadily.

After a moment, he lowers his head and touches his lips to hers gently. “There’s a way to work this out so everyone gets what they need, Diane,” he says in between kisses. “We’ll figure it out.”

She hopes he’s right.


	11. Chapter 11

“What _is_ that?” Kurt asks sleepily from behind her, rubbing his hand over her abdomen as it pulses in a steady rhythm.

“I think the baby has the hiccups,” Diane replies in joyful amazement. “I’ve read about that happening.”

He laughs incredulously. “They can get hiccups before they’re even born?”

“Apparently so.” She rests her hand next to his, entwining their little fingers as they delight in the feeling, until it stops a minute or so later.

Kurt moves his hand off her stomach to wrap it fully around her as he buries his head in the nape of her neck. “What time is your appointment again?” he asks, voice muffled by her hair.

“Ten,” she says, tilting her head forward as he kisses her neck. “Mmm. That’s nice. What’s on your schedule for the rest of the day?”

He kisses her shoulder one last time and lets her go, rising up on one elbow as she rolls to her back. “I have to come back here after I drop you off after your appointment. Got some tests to run, and a couple of client meetings later in the afternoon. Should get back to your place by six or seven.” He leans down and brushes his lips lightly against hers.

Lifting her hands to cup his face, she holds him in place and deepens the kiss, taking strength from the feel of him, solid and real beside her. A sudden surge of affection for him floods her veins and she moves one arm from his cheek to wrap around his back, pulling him closer.

She can’t imagine how she could have gotten through all of this without him. She wishes...she wishes it could always be like this. If only they had gotten their act together sooner, before the stakes grew so high, maybe things wouldn’t be so complicated.

After a few minutes, he groans and pulls back. “That’s enough of that,” he says, referring obliquely to their current state of medically imposed celibacy.

Running her thumb over his lips, she makes a noise of frustrated agreement. “I suppose it’s time to get up now anyway.”

 Dropping his head, he gives her one last peck. “I’ll go make breakfast.”

* * *

“Everything looks good from my perspective,” Dr. Chen tells the two of them a few hours later. “You’ve responded very well to this latest protocol. Knock wood, but I don’t think you’ll have any problem reaching thirty-five weeks and then we’ll decide on our next steps.” She sets Diane’s chart down on the exam room counter.  “How’s everything else going? Do you have any questions, anything you would like to discuss?”

Does she? Her face must give away her uncertainty, because the doctor turns to Kurt. “Could you give us a minute, please?”

He looks from the doctor to Diane, who makes what she hopes is an apologetic face. Impassive, he nods and stands, leaving the small examination room without another word.

Dr. Chen turns to Diane. “Okay. What’s wrong?”

She toys with the paper covering the exam table, poking little holes in it with her fingernails. Her problem isn’t even medical in nature, but she doesn’t know who else to talk to. Kurt is too close to the situation to make a decent sounding board, and she’s been forced into the realization over the last few months that most of the women she calls friends are actually little more than professional contacts, certainly no one she can confide in. It’s been an isolating discovery.

Looking up, she asks, “Dr. Chen, do you have any children?”

If the doctor is surprised by the personal question, it doesn’t show. “Yes, two. My daughter is twelve and my son is seven.”

Diane nods slowly. “May I ask how do you do it? How do you function as both as both a professional with a demanding career, and as a mother, without giving anyone the short end of the stick?”

The doctor laughs. “Honestly, not very well at times, I’m afraid. I’m fortunate that my wife’s career isn’t quite so time-consuming. She’s had to pick up a lot of my parenting slack over the years.”

She smooths the tattered paper to either side of her, then folds her hands in her lap. “Do you...have you ever felt your bond with your children suffered as a result?”

The doctor appears to consider her words before speaking. “Am I the one who changed the majority of their diapers when they were babies, or the one who drives them to most of their activities today? No, I’m not. But I’m the one who reads most of the bedtime stories, and I’m the one who makes the pancakes on Sunday mornings, and I’m the one who taught them how to swim. I’m their mom, and they love me. And I love them and I make damned sure they know it through my words and my actions. There are many ways to be a good, loving parent. We all have to find the ones that suit us. You’ll find your way, Diane, and you don’t have to give up who you are in order to do it.”

Diane shakes her head, unconvinced. “But didn’t you ever wonder if your priorities were all wrong? Shouldn’t we _want_ to give up everything for our children?”

The doctor releases a long breath and comes to sit in the chair Kurt had just vacated. “You know, that question still strikes terror in my heart after all these years because I’m still afraid of being judged for giving my honest answer. Do you think men have that same fear?” She waves the question away. “Never mind, don’t answer that. Yes, of course I’ve questioned my priorities at times. That’s a good thing, asking the question of yourself, because of course there are times you will need to sacrifice for your child. Of course. That’s how it should be. But there has to be some balance. You don’t stop being human, stop having needs of your own, just because you’re a mother. I love my job. I’m good at it, and I believe I contribute to our world in a positive way through my work. I also love my kids and they are happy, well-adjusted, and well- _loved._ Isn’t that the important thing?”

Diane nods, because yes, of course that is the most important thing, and if there is one thing she knows without doubt, it’s that this baby will be loved.

“Does he think you should stay at home? Your partner?” The doctor’s face is carefully neutral, her tone mild and non-threatening.

Diane’s eyes widen, quickly seeing where this is going. “What? Oh my goodness, no. No, not at all. Kurt is very supportive; this is all me. I’m my own worst critic sometimes, I’m afraid. I think it’s all the time alone starting to get to me.” She forces a throaty, self-deprecating laugh. “I’m very sorry for prying into your personal life, doctor.”

“Oh god, don’t be. You’re certainly not the first patient to ask me these kinds of questions, and I’m sure you won’t be the last. I answer them honestly because I know there are many women who struggle with the same issues I did, and I hope that by sharing the honest, unvarnished truth that maybe, eventually, the fear of being judged will stop. I don’t know why we women do this to ourselves.”

“I suppose we’re all just trying to do our best.” She laughs again and this time it’s genuine, if a little rueful. “It would just be nice if it was a little more obvious what that was. Will I screw this kid up more by working a lot, but being relatively happy, or by stalling the career I love so I’m home more, but feeling resentful about it?”

“It’s not always easy to find the right balance,” the doctor agrees sympathetically. “But I like to think that by having a career, interests, and a life outside of home, I’m modelling a work ethic and independence, while at the same time teaching my kids that the world does not revolve around their egocentric little selves.”

Diane laughs again. “Thank you, doctor. I do appreciate the pep talk.”

The doctor stands, and gives her arm a quick, sympathetic squeeze. “If it’s any consolation, just the fact that you’re asking these questions tells me you’re going to be just fine.”

* * *

The doctor’s words replay through her mind during the drive home following her appointment. She feels better knowing she isn’t the only one who has struggled with these questions of priorities, and self-image, and how to cope with her new role.

“Is everything okay?” Kurt asks, startling her out of her pensiveness.

“Hmm?” She glances over at him, having nearly forgotten he was there. “I’m sorry, I guess I was a little lost in thought. Everything is fine. Really,” she adds at his doubtful look.

She turns back to the window, watching the people swarming along the sidewalk as the truck creeps through the late morning traffic. A young mother wearing a baby in a sling and holding a preschooler by the hand crosses in front of them at a red light.

“Kurt, did your mother stay home with you as a child?” she asks, her eyes following the little family.

Easing off the brake as the light turns green, he glances over at her quickly, then back to the road. “Define stay at home. She didn’t have a regular job, but she worked on our farm. I went along with her until I was old enough to go to school.”

She absorbs that for a moment, smiling at the image of him as a serious, dark-haired toddler, feeding chickens or whatever one does on a farm.

“Was she a good mother?”

He doesn’t need to think about that. “Yeah. Yeah she was. She was tough; that farm ran like clockwork when she took over after my dad died. But she loved me, and I always knew it, even when she was giving me hell.” She can hear the respect and affection in his voice for the woman who raised him.

She nods slowly and falls silent again, considering.

Her own mother had every opportunity to spend quality time with her and instead left her care mostly to the household staff. The only time they really interacted was when Mother decided she was doing something wrong, which seemed to be most of the time.

Her father, on the other hand, always made time for her no matter how busy he was, and he still managed to do so, so much good in the world. God, how she adored that man.

And now Kurt’s mother, another parent with a busy life of her own who somehow managed to parent successfully, if the man sitting next to her is any indication.

Perhaps that's the key. Make room for the baby in her life rather than giving up her life for the baby. Include her child, in an age-appropriate way, in the life she wants to live, doing the things that are important to her. Set an example of making one’s way in the world, of living her values, of being happy.

No doubt it isn’t as straightforward in practice as it sounds in theory. Priorities will need to be balanced and rebalanced as situations arise, and adjustments will need to be made, but for the first time, she feels like maybe she’s up for the challenge.

She looks over at Kurt and grins.

“What?” he asks gruffly, catching sight of her as they pull up to the curb in front of her building.

She laughs. “Nothing. Just happy.”

* * *

Later, after dinner, Kurt cleans up the kitchen, then returns to the living room, taking a seat in the armchair beside the couch and leaning over on his knees, newspaper spread open on the coffee table in front of him. Diane pretends to read her book on the couch, all the while watching him surreptitiously over the top of the page, her heart full, but her nerves jangling as she mulls over the topic she wants to broach.

Her feelings for him, always so strong and confusing from the very first day they met, have solidified over the last couple of months into something more full-bodied and enduring, despite all the uncertainty she’s had over their future plans. While their vastly divergent upbringings have instilled in them opposing values in many areas, she’s beginning to see that the diversity enriches their relationship; it doesn’t weaken it. His values are a part of who he is. And who he is, is pretty wonderful.

He seems to be fairly at home in her space these days, cooking meals in her kitchen, using her desk in the den, hanging his courtroom sportcoat in her walk-in closet. But this is still _her_ place, as the farmhouse is _his,_ despite her staying there every weekend. What would it take, she wonders, to even things out a bit, to make both places _theirs_? Could he ever be happy here?

“Kurt?” she begins, emotion raising the timbre of her voice by half an octave.

He looks up from the newspaper, one hand holding the corner of the page he was about to turn, waiting for her to continue.

She closes her book and sets it carefully aside. “Has it…” He voice breaks and she pauses to wet her lips. ‘Has it been really awful for you the last couple of months?”

His eyes narrow and his head tips to one side, as if he’s anticipating some sort of trap. “What? No, why?”

“Having to spend so much time in the city, I mean. This schedule we’ve fallen into, sleeping here weeknights and in the country on the weekends. Do you hate it?”

He shrugs and completes the turn of the newspaper page. “No, I guess not. The drive isn’t that bad at the right time of day. I’m really only here in the evening ‘til morning, unless I’m in court, and then I would have been here anyway. Why? You getting sick of me?”

The truth is just the opposite. She doesn’t know how she can ever go back to living without him. “No, no...I just… Do you think we could keep it up for a while longer?”

His brows knit together. “What do you mean? For how long?”

“Well, I don’t know. I suppose we may have to reevaluate when the baby starts school.” She can see she has him utterly confused now, and it’s so adorable that her nervousness begins to fade away.

He shakes his head. “Diane, what exactly are you trying to say?”

She laughs. “I think I’m asking if you want to live together. Officially, and on purpose, not just as a side effect of this situation we’re in.”

For one interminable moment he just stares, and she starts to wonder if perhaps she’s made a mistake, has misunderstood some finer point of their arrangement, when finally a slow smile spreads across his face.

“Yeah,” he says. “I think that schedule works for me.”


	12. Chapter 12

From her spot on the couch, Diane hears the front door open, then close with a soft thud. A moment later, Kurt walks into the living room. He gives her a nod and then holds up a sheath of paper, waving it back and forth in the air.

“It’s done?” Diane asks.

“Yep. Signed on the dotted line; money’s in the bank.” He crosses the room and falls onto the couch next to her, passing her the document she drafted herself and then had Will review in case her pregnancy-addled brain missed anything.

“And how do you feel about that?” She picks up her glasses from the end table and slides them on, flipping to the final page. His signature is scrawled, bold and dark, at the bottom of the page,  with Will’s scratched beneath it in witness. Kurt has put on a pretty good show these past few weeks as they awaited the closing date of the sale of his business, but she knows there has to be some mixed feelings there. He built that company up from scratch over the course of two decades, dedicating his time, his knowledge and his energy, imbuing it with a flavour that was uniquely his own.

She’ll always remember the first day they met, when he sat across from her and explained how he only took cases with innocent defendants. She had laughed, assuming it to be some strange kind of cowboy joke. It hadn’t been. Kurt ran his business they way he ran his life - honest, straightforward and dignified. Her lips quirk at the memory. And with reasonable rates.

Even though he had been planning on retiring in the near future anyway, and even though he’s looking forward to his new role now, she knows this all must still be bittersweet, even if he won’t ever admit it. Aside from a slight tightness in his jaw she wouldn’t have picked up on a few months earlier, his face remains perfectly impassive. “Feel fine. Got a good price.”

“But…” She’s about to push, but something in his eyes silences her. She closes her mouth. He doesn’t want to talk now; she should respect that. They’re still learning their way around each other, but this much she can do.

“How are _you_ feeling?” he asks. It’s a blatant change of subject, but she lets it pass.

“Like a beached whale,” she replies morosely, sliding her hand over her distended abdomen and looking sadly at her feet, stuffed into men’s moccasin style slippers and propped up on a pillow on the coffee table. She’s always taken pride in her appearance, spent more money on clothing than perhaps was seemly, worked hard at maintaining her slender figure. Now she looks in the mirror and doesn’t recognize herself.

She hasn’t been able to wear rings or proper shoes in months due to swelling in her extremities. Her cheekbones have disappeared into the puffiness that is her face and her eyes are overwhelmed by dark circles. She feels silly and vain that it bothers her so much, but she can’t help it.

Heartburn keeps her awake at night. The constant doctors appointments are exhausting. She knows she’s been undeservedly short with Kurt. It’s been a miserable few months. She’s just so ready for this to be over so she can have her body back and they can all move on to the next phase of their lives.

He laughs, but sympathetically, then slides over closer to her, kissing her twice on the lips in quick succession. “It’s almost over. Thirty-five weeks today, right?”

“Yes, thank god. Don’t forget we have an appointment with Dr. Chen at 4:00.”

“I remember.” He slides closer still and lifts his arm to the back of the couch.

She accepts his unspoken invitation and and curls against his side, sighing as his arm slides down to envelop her. “I’m just so tired of this,” she confesses quietly. “I had no idea it was going to be this hard. Physically, emotionally - I’m drained, Kurt. And the hard part is still to come.”

“Labour?” he asks.

“No. Well that too, I guess, but I meant parenting. Do you know how many sleepless nights we have in front of us? And I’m tired now…”

He tightens his grip on her and slides his hand up and down her arm. “Do you regret it? Going through with this?”

She’s thought about that a lot over the last six months. There certainly have been times she’s longed for her old, comparatively uncomplicated life, when her own body wasn’t trying to kill her.

But no, as hard as it’s been, she can’t regret it. She shakes her head, rubbing it against his chest. “No. I just hope our child doesn’t resent us too much for being old and tired.”

She feels him shrug. “Well, they have to resent us for something; it’s what kids do. Might as well be for that.” He leans away, forcing her to look up at him. “Besides, at least after the kid is here, I can help. I hate that I can’t take some of this off you.”

She straightens up, letting his arm slide off her as she turns to look at him fully. “Kurt, you have. My god, I couldn’t have gotten through this without you.”

“You’re making a whole person,” he scoffs, looking away. “I make dinner.”

She reaches up and touches his cheek, bringing his head around to look at her again. “You’ve done so much more than that. I know I haven’t been easy to live with the last few months, but you’ve been here with me every step of the way without complaint.” To her horror, her eyes begin to well up. She blinks rapidly, but not before he notices and lifts a hand to her cheek, swiping a tear away with his thumb. “Stupid hormones,” she mutters. “I feel ridiculous.”

“Don’t,” he says quietly, before leaning in to kiss her.

* * *

Dr. Chen puts her through the usual battery of tests, including an ultrasound and a fetal non-stress test, where straps are wrapped around her belly to monitor the baby’s heartbeat in response to its own movement, and any random uterine contractions she may have.

After they’ve finished and Diane is dressed again, the doctor returns, her demeanor serious.

“All right you two,” she says, “I’ve got good news and, well not bad news really, but cautious news. The good news is your baby is doing just fine. Its heart rate is where we want it, and the ultrasound measurements show it to be well over five pounds now.”

She exhales and taps her fingers on Diane’s chart. “However, your own numbers aren’t holding as stable as I’d like,” she explains, leaning back against the exam room counter. “Your blood pressure is creeping up and there's more protein in your urine than I’d like. So, I think it’s time to get this show on the road. I’d like to admit you to L&D now, and make arrangements with Dr. Harris to induce you in the morning.”

Diane looks to Kurt, who stares back impassively, and then to the doctor again. They had thought they might be given a date for an induction today, but she hadn’t expected to be admitted right then and there. She wasn’t even packed. “Admit me now? If you’re not going to do anything until the morning, why can’t I go home and come back then?”

Dr. Chen sighs. “I'd feel better if you were here where we can keep an eye on you...”

Diane doesn’t respond, just lets the silence fill the room, her many years of experience with negotiations telling her there’s some wiggle room here.

“But it’s true there isn’t any cause for immediate concern,” the perinatologist continues after a long pause. “And you are going to need a good night’s sleep.” She turns to Kurt. “You’ll be with her the whole time?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he agrees firmly.

Dr. Chen presses her lips together. “Okay, fine. You can have one last quiet night at home. Emphasis on the quiet part. But if anything seems at all worrisome, get yourselves to the ER.”

“We will,” Diane promises gratefully. “Thank you, doctor.”

* * *

Diane sits up in bed, glasses low on her nose and her laptop in her lap, reading everything she can find on preeclampsia and inducing labour. The deeper she falls down the rabbit hole of links, the more anxious she becomes, her eyes darting from word to word as her heart beats faster and faster.

“You’ve been staring at that thing for an hour,” Kurt says, emerging from the bathroom, towel in hand, his hair still damp from the shower and coin-sized water spots dotting the neckline of his grey cotton t-shirt. “Learn anything interesting?”

She slaps the laptop shut. “Yes. I’ve learned I don’t want to do this. I think we should just wait it out. The baby will come when it’s ready.”

His eyes narrow. ”What? What happened? This morning you were beyond ready for this to be over.”

Tossing the towel back in the bathroom, he crosses the room to his side of the bed and pulls back the covers.

"What if it's too soon?” she asks, her voice thin and high. “I’ve been reading about cases where labour has been induced and the baby ended up being dangerously premature. Doctors think they can tell how big it is, but they can't, not always." She knows she’s verging on hysteria and breathes deeply, trying to calm herself down.

Dropping the corner of bedding he was still holding, he walks around to her side instead.  Wordlessly, he takes the computer from her and sets it aside, before sitting down on the edge of the bed facing her. He takes her hands and holds them both between his. "Diane, we have to trust the doctors, okay? You're not well, and if she says it's riskier to stay pregnant than not, then that's what we have to go with. Besides, I bet there was some guesswork as to when those kids you read about were conceived, right? We don’t have that issue."

That's true. There was only one night it could have happened for them, and it was exactly 35 weeks ago.

She exhales forcefully. “I just...I guess now that it’s about to happen, I’m scared. So much could still go wrong. Maybe I should have prepared more for this part; I don’t know. I’ve been so concerned with how to get this far that I didn’t even think about what happens next.”

He squeezes her hands. “That’s not true. We watched that video, remember?”

She shudders, remembering the graphic childbirth video Dr. Harris had recommended for them. “Ugh. Yes, you’re right. Maybe I don’t want to be any more prepared than that.”

He chuckles. “Maybe not. You know the basics, and you have good doctors to look after the rest. Sounds pretty prepared to me.” Lifting her hands to his mouth, he kisses each one, then returns them to her lap, standing up and walking back around to his side of the bed.

“Just think,” she tells him as he gets in. “The next time we’re in this bed together, I won’t be pregnant anymore,” She takes off her glasses and lays down, arranging herself on her left side as her doctors have instructed. “I’ll be able to sleep in any position I want.”

“Just sleep?” he asks jokingly, pulling the covers up over the both of them.

Rising up on one elbow, she cranes her neck around to look at him, an only partly feigned look of horror on her face. “Yes, just sleep! Are you insane?”

He laughs as he lays down next to her, rolling to his side as well and putting his arm around her. “I’m kidding; I know it will be awhile yet. I can wait as long as it takes for you to be ready.

“My mind is ready now,” she promises him with a frustrated sigh, “it’s just my body that has other plans.” She never would have thought she would miss sex this much, having been single for a good portion of her life without giving it much thought. It’s different when he’s right there beside her and she can’t do anything about it.

“I know; it’s okay,” he assures her, lips brushing against her shoulder as he speaks. Already he sounds half asleep. She doesn’t know how he does that, transitioning from wakefulness to sleep in the blink of an eye, while she can lie there for hours, listening to him snore, waiting for sleep to take her.

This time, however, almost as if her body knows it's going to need the rest, it’s not long before she joins him.

* * *

She wakes suddenly, her heart pounding as she holds perfectly still and peers at the shadows looming around the still darkened room. The glowing red numbers on the alarm clock tell her it’s just past three.

She rises up on her elbow, then swings her legs over the side of the bed, struggling to sit up. Her pyjamas feel odd, the normally silky fabric constricting and clammy. _They’re wet_ , she realizes.

She moves her hand over the bed next to her to find the bedding is soaked. Did she wet the bed? The question is answered in the next moment by a strong contraction gripping her abdomen. She gasps and leans over, wrapping one arm around her midsection while the other grips the damp sheet beside her.

“Kurt,” she whispers when it eases off a short time later. Then, realizing whispering is counterproductive, she adds in a normal voice, “Kurt, wake up.” She turns in place and grabs his leg, giving him a little shake.

“Wha...what’s wrong?” He wakes just as quickly as he falls asleep, sitting up beside her and rubbing his eyes.

“I think my water broke. The bed is wet, and I’m having contractions. I think we should go to the hospital.”

He curses under his breath and leans away from her long enough to turn on the lamp beside him. “Say that again,” he says when he turns back to her, one of his warm hands landing on her back.

She can’t, because she’s in the midst of another contraction, her eyes squeezed shut as the pain steals her breath.

“Diane?” she hears him ask. When she doesn’t answer she feels the mattress shift under her as he gets out of bed and walks around to her side, sitting alongside her without touching, leaving her space.

“Diane,” he says, “Breathe. The kid needs oxygen and so do you.”

His words penetrate the fog of pain and she gasps, drawing in first one ragged breath and then another. After a few more seconds of steady ins and outs, the pain subsides again. “Okay,” she says. “Okay, I’m okay. We need to go.”

Twenty minutes and another contraction later, they’re dressed and Kurt is helping her up into the cab of the truck. When she’s settled, he walks around to the other side and gets in.

“This is it,” he says, glancing at her as he puts the big truck in gear. “Are you ready?”

She laughs, partly from nerves, partly from pure joy. “As ready I’ll ever be. Let’s go have a baby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up, I'm leaving on vacation soon, so the next chapter won't be up for probably 2-3 weeks. But don't worry, I will definitely be back.


	13. Chapter 13

Staring into Kurt’s eyes, Diane breathes deeply and rhythmically through the painful contraction. He inhales and exhales along with her, his silent support worth more to her than any words could ever be. Holding both his hands in hers, she squeezes until the pain subsides.

“Okay?” he asks as she eases up on her grip.

She lays back against the thin pillow on the inclined hospital bed. “Mm. Yes. This is fun, isn’t it?”

He laughs, smiling crookedly and shaking his head. She likes that she can amuse him, even now with them both tired and anxious as they wait for the doctor to arrive. “What were we talking about?”

“I asked you if this kid has a name yet.” He releases her hands and leans back in the red, faux-leather upholstered armchair.

She shifts in the narrow bed, trying to find a comfortable position. “Oh, yes. No, I have a few ideas, but I need to see the baby before I decide. But you _can_ make suggestions, you know.”

He winces and waves away the thought. “I don’t know anything about all that. Whatever you want is fine. Just nothing weird.”

She rolls her eyes. “Nothing _weird_ , thank you, that’s very helpful.” Giving up on comfort, she flops her head back against the pillow, about to run a few possibilities by him when a knock on the door frame attracts their attention.

“I hear someone decided this was a good time to be born,” Dr. Harris says, entering the room and sounding entirely too cheerful for someone who has been woken in the middle of the night to go to work.

“So it would seem,” Diane agrees dryly. “Though the polite thing might have been to let us all have a good night’s sleep first.”

The doctor laughs and walks around to the other side of the bed. “Yes, well, to misquote an old Yiddish proverb: parents and doctors plan, babies laugh.”

She grimaces with agreement. This whole day has been full of surprises, but if nothing else, going into labour naturally has rendered her fear of inducing too soon moot. Whatever happens now is out of her hands.

“How are your contractions?” he asks.

“Like butterfly kisses,” she says dryly, knowing the doctor can glean all the information he needs from the monitor he’s now examining.

“Still pretty irregular,” he remarks, ignoring her sarcasm and stepping over to the end of the bed. “But getting stronger. Feet up, please, so I can check your dilation.”

She does as she’s told, any discomfort at displaying her private parts to anyone who asks long since decimated.

“Four centimeters,” the doctor announces after a minute, pulling off his gloves. “Still a ways to go. How’s the pain?”

“Manageable,” she tells him, stretching her legs back out and straightening the sheet. She’s already decided she doesn’t want any more drugs in her system if she can possibly avoid them. The ones she has to be on for the preeclampsia are quite enough.

He nods. “Good. If that changes, hit your call button.”

“How much longer?” Kurt asks, sitting up, then folding over with his elbows on his knees.

The doctor shrugs. “It’s hard to say. As long as there’s progression and mom and baby aren’t in any distress, it’s best to let nature do its thing. If any of those conditions stop being true, we have other options.”

“Like a Cesarean section,” Diane says.

“Now don’t go getting ahead of me,” Dr. Harris cautions, “No need to worry about advanced calculus when basic arithmetic might solve the equation.”

“I’m a lawyer,” she says with a grimace. “It’s my job to consider all possible scenarios.”

“Well, this is my courtroom, and my rules,” he says, transitioning between metaphors with ease, “And I say we’re only trying one case at a time here. Okay?”

She nods as Kurt reaches out and squeezes her hand reassuringly. “Okay.”

“Try to sleep if you can. It maybe your last chance for the next couple of years.” Dr Harris pats her foot and then disappears out the door.

“Funny,” she calls to his retreating form, then closes her eyes and leans back against the pillow anyway.

* * *

She doesn’t know if she actually sleeps but with the lights dimmed, Vivaldi playing quietly on her phone, and Kurt’s hand, warm and reassuring in hers, the times between contractions are almost peaceful.

Nurses are in and out throughout the next several hours, looking at her monitors and asking her questions in low, soothing voices. Dr. Harris returns regularly, checking her progress and appearing satisfied.

She feels like she’s existing in some sort of purgatory, a waystation between her old life and her new life yet to come, where neither one feels quite real. The only thing real is this room, the people in it, and the daunting task her body is trying to perform all on its own without any assistance from her conscious mind.

She squeezes Kurt’s hand as another contraction grips her. He’s already alert, leaning forward in his chair, ready for whatever help she needs from him. They’re coming too quickly now for even the illusion of relaxation in between.

“Breathe,” he reminds her, folding his hand around hers.

She complies without answering, the pain too intense for speech. When it finally fades, she falls back against the pillows just as Dr Harris appears in the doorway.

“How are we doing in here?”

Exhausted, she just looks to Kurt. He holds her eyes for a moment, nods, then turns to the doctor.

“They’re coming faster,” he says. “Longer. She’s thrown up a couple of times. Her back hurts. She’s exhausted.” His final words are unspoken, but she still hears them clearly. _Do something_.

He looks exhausted himself. Deep worry lines bisect his forehead and his eyes are rimmed with red. She squeezes his hand, in a way she hopes is reassuring. She’s okay; she’s not been pushed beyond her endurance yet.

“Believe it or not,” the doctor says. “That sounds promising. Let’s see what’s happening.”

He performs a quick check of her cervix, and straightens up with grin on his face. “Congratulations folks, that’s ten. The urge to push is going to hit you any minute now so we better get set up here.”

He disappears out the door without waiting for a response.

She turns hopefully to Kurt. “Does that mean it’s time?”

“I think it does,” he says grimly.

* * *

“Push,” someone commands, and her body obeys without conscious thought. She’s long since lost track of who is speaking to her; all her energy, all her awareness, are focused inward.

From somewhere in the room a guttural, animal groan reaches her ears. She ignores it as irrelevant, a minor curiosity unrelated to the task at hand. It’s only when a voice cautions her against wasting her strength does she realize the sound is coming from her.

The contraction ends and she collapses back against the bed, gasping for air. Kurt wipes her brow with a cold cloth and speaks quiet words of reassurance as she tries to catch her breath. _I’ll sit the next one out,_ she promises herself. _Just one. They can’t make me do it._

“This is going to sting a little,” Dr. Harris cautions from the other end of the bed. “I’m just going to give you a little snip down here to help things along.” Vaguely she’s aware she should care more about this development, but in the moment it barely registers. The promised pain, insignificant in comparison, comes and goes, and then another contraction is upon her. Her vow to herself is instantly forgotten, and with a little help from Kurt, she sits up again and pushes, every muscle in her body tensed and straining.

“And we have a head,” Dr. Harris announces a few seconds later, and the room erupts in cheers. “Stop, Diane,” he commands. “Relax for a minute, while I check things out.”

There’s a mirror behind the doctor’s head, but without her glasses, all she can see is a blur of red. Kurt remains steadfast in his refusal to look anywhere at all but at her face.

“Okay, we’re good. Two more good pushes should do it. Give it all you’ve got.”

She does as she’s told; bearing down with the renewed energy that comes with knowing it’s almost over, until she feels a sudden rush of movement from between her legs and there’s a flurry of activity from the medical personal.

An unbearably long moment of silence blankets the small room, only to be shattered by the high pitched wail of a newborn. She doesn’t realise she’s crying as well until Kurt touches her cheek with the damp cloth he’s been using on her brow. His eyes swim with tears of their own.

“Come down here, Dad,” Dr. Harris says. “Tell us what you see.”

Obeying, he lets go of her hand and steps to the end of the bed. “A girl,” he says a moment later, sounding more than a little dazed. He turns back to look at Diane. “It’s a girl.”

“A girl?” she repeats, craning her neck to see for herself.

“Congratulations,” the doctor says, passing the baby to a nurse who brings her closer. “You have a daughter.”

The nurse displays a tiny squalling infant covered in blood and patchy white vernix. A daughter. _Her_ daughter. Amazed, she reaches out and lightly touches a finger to a tiny red foot. The baby, still crying, her eyes screwed tightly shut, kicks in response to the stimulus. She whips her head around to look at Kurt, and laughs joyously. “Look! Look what we did.”

“I see,” he says, wonderment transforming his face.

The nurse backs away after a few seconds. “I’ll bring her right back, I promise,” she tells them as Diane stretches out a hand to try and stop her. “We just have to check her out and clean her up a bit.”

“And you still have a bit more work to do,” the doctor adds.

* * *

The rest of the medical procedures pass in a haze of euphoria and exhaustion, and a short time later she's settled into a private room on the maternity ward with her daughter - _her daughter_ \- sleeping quietly in her arms. She's tiny, not quite six pounds, but healthy, with a determined voice, a light dusting of dark hair, and all twenty fingers and toes.

"She looks like you," Kurt says, touching her cheek lightly with the back of one finger.

"How can you tell?" Diane asks contemplatively, eyes not moving from the baby’s little face. "She's all smooshed."

He shrugs. "She's beautiful. It didn't come from me."

She looks at him then, smiling, accepting the compliment with grace and not embarrassing him by telling him that he is so, _so,_ beautiful too.

"Take her," she murmurs instead. She has always loved watching him do just about anything, shooting, cooking, building a fire in the old stone hearth of the farmhouse, but now more than anything, she wants to watch him cradle their tiny daughter in his strong arms.

For a moment he looks terrified, but then he stands and steps closer as she carefully transfers the infant to him. She isn't even as long as his forearm with her legs pulled tightly to her chest and her tiny head cradled in in the crook of his elbow.

“I wish my mother had lived to see this,” Kurt says, running a careful finger down his daughter’s arm as he sits back down in the armchair beside Diane’s bed.

“Your mother’s name was Sarah, right?” She had passed many an hour looking through his mother’s old photo albums and mementos on weekends at the farm, when she was stuck on the couch while he worked. Sarah McVeigh had been a tiny woman, but she had such a look of strength and determination about her, and her great pride in her only son was apparent in the care she had taken to document his life.

“Yep,” he says distractedly, entranced by the baby in his arms as she cries half-heartedly for a second, then turns her head into her father’s chest, asleep again.

“Sarah Elizabeth Lockhart,” she muses aloud.

This gets his attention. His head jerks up and he looks at her, eyes flickering with some deep, unspoken emotion. “Really?”

She can’t help but grin, pleased with his reaction. “If you like it, yes.”

His entire face lights up as his mouth curves into a grin, and if she had thought he was beautiful before, it was nothing compared to now. He nods slowly. “I do. I like it a lot.”

“Okay then,” she agrees quietly, watching Sarah sleeping peacefully in her father’s arms. “That’s settled.”

Scooting down in the bed, she turns on her side, and watches her family through half-closed eyes. “You should go home and get some sleep,” she suggests after few minutes. The morning sun streams through the window behind her, glints off the silver in his hair and highlights the dark circles under his eyes.

He laughs. “Me? I’m fine. You’re the one who just ran a marathon. Close your eyes, Diane. We’ll be right here when you wake up.”

She doesn’t want to miss a minute of Sarah’s first day in the world, but he’s right. She’s too exhausted to even protest. But before she falls asleep, there’s one more thing she needs to say, here, now, in this moment of almost profound peace.

“I love you, Kurt.” Her voice comes out trembling and uncertain, but the truth is, she’s never been more sure of anything in her life.

He looks over at her, then silently and carefully he stands, cradling the baby to his chest. He leans down to kiss her. “I love you too.”

She kisses him back softly, one hand curling around the back of his neck, hyper-aware of the infant between them.  There are tears in his eyes when they separate and she feels an answering prickle behind her own. She shakes her head and smiles. “Sometimes I can’t believe this is real.”

His eyes drop away for a moment as he draws a shaky breath before turning back and regarding her steadily. “It’s real. She’s real,” he says, lowering his arms slowly to display the sleeping newborn. “ _We’re_ real, Diane.”

And as always, his few words say everything she needs to hear.  

* * *

She and Sarah both sleep for a while until a lactation consultant arrives and wakes them for a nursing session. Only then does Diane finally convince Kurt to go home for a couple of hours and get some rest himself. He leaves promising to return in the afternoon.

After getting them set up, the LC leaves them alone. Nursing is strange, and a little painful, and she’s been told it will takes some time for both of them to learn what to do, so she tries not to worry. After awhile, the baby seems to have fallen asleep, so she carefully removes her from the breast and and cradles her against her chest. As she settles her in her arms, Sarah yawns, then opens her eyes watching her mother with an expression of grave concern.

“Oh dear,” she says softly. A strange feeling of familiarity comes over her, like unexpectedly running into an old love. _I know you_. “Hello, baby. So you’re the one who’s been causing so much trouble, hmm? It’s nice to finally meet you.” She touches Sarah’s hand with her little finger and the tiny girl grasps it with surprising strength.

“Well. There’s been lots of changes for us today. I suppose you’re wondering what’s going on, aren’t you? I’m... I’m your Mommy.” Her voice cracking on the last word, she pauses, swallowing down the emotion gathering in the back of her throat. “And I’m not altogether sure what I’m doing right now, but I suppose between you and me and Daddy we’ll figure it out.”

The baby blinks and yawns, her little hands rising above her head taking Diane’s finger with her.

“You are going to love your Daddy,” she continues. “He’s smart, and kind, and strong, and if it wasn’t for you, I might not have realized that in time.” She remembers how hurt Kurt was the day she went to tell him she was pregnant, remembers how many times before that they had carelessly caused each other pain. Would they had ever gotten over themselves long enough to really learn to understand one another? Maybe. Probably not. She’s very glad fate had other plans for them.

“So thank you for that,” she tells her daughter. The little girl’s eyes have closed again, her breath coming in soft little puffs of air Diane can feel against her bare skin. “And I promise we will try our best to deserve you.”


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little glimpse into their future. I hope you enjoyed the story and thanks for your support. It means a lot. <3

**One month later**

With what seems like the entire staff of Lockhart Gardner gathered around her, oohing and aahing, Diane sets the baby seat down on the boardroom table. She starts to unbuckle the straps, but Sarah shifting in her sleep gives her pause. _Let sleeping babies sleep, Diane,_ she tells herself, moving her hand away and smiling awkwardly.

“She’s beautiful,” one of the paralegals coos, her hand inching closer to the carrier.

“She is,” Diane agrees, quickly stepping in front of the woman, heading her off at the pass. Sarah is still so little; she doesn’t want people and their germs anywhere near her. “Thank you.”

“All right everyone, back to work,” Will prompts, perhaps sensing her discomfort, perhaps just annoyed at the precipitous drop in billable hours.

One by one the staff file out until only Will, Eli, Kalinda, and Julius, in town from New York, remain.

“Congratulations, Diane. She’s ah...she’s great,” Kalinda says, edging toward the door. “Will, I have to…” She gestures somewhere beyond the room.

“Yes, go,” Will says, waving her off. “We’re in a bit of a time crunch,” he explains apologetically as the investigator disappears out the door.

“And she’s not comfortable around babies,” Diane adds, unoffended. She adjusts the receiving blanket covering Sarah’s little legs.

He shrugs one shoulder. “And that.”

“I recognize the deer in the headlights look. I see it in the mirror every morning.” She laughs, but the truth is she still has no idea what she’s doing a good portion of the time, and it’s not funny; it’s fucking terrifying.

“Same here,” Eli adds dryly. “And my baby is in her twenties.”

“And my baby somehow turned into six babies,” Julius says, letting his voice drop into a faux-whisper. “Don’t ever let them outnumber you.”

She laughs, amused at their antics, if not exactly reassured. “So, are you all trying to tell me it doesn’t get easier?”

The two men shrug. “We probably shouldn’t scare her,” Julius says to Eli.

“She’ll make us pay for it eventually,” the other man agrees.

“Maybe we should just go now.”

Eli nods sharply. “Good call.”

“We’re kidding,” Julius whispers in her ear as he hugs her goodbye. “They grown up fast. Enjoy her.”

The two men file out of the boardroom and pull the door closed behind them.

“Okay,” Will says, pulling out a chair. “Sit. How’s it really going? How much do you miss us?”

She laughs, pulling out the chair in front of Sarah and sitting down. “It really is going well, actually. Better than I expected. I don’t know how I’m going to leave her.” If her answer is only partly true, well, Will doesn’t need to know it.

Will grimaces. “McVeigh still going to stay home with her?”

“He is. He’s wonderful with her.” She honestly doesn’t know what she would do without him. His lowkey, unflappable nature seems to render him immune to the rampant anxiety the baby’s crying causes in her.

“So you _are_ coming back.” He steeples his hands together on the table in front of him, tapping his fingers together as he watches her intently.

She glances at Sarah, still sleeping peacefully, then looks back, forcing a smile. There’s something in Will’s expression that makes her wonder which answer he’s hoping for. “ _Yes_ ,” she emphasizes. “I am coming back next month, just a little more reluctantly than I anticipated.”

All the days she spent working from the couch in her living room, feeling isolated and alone, she had no doubt she would be back at work the instant she was physically ready. It seems so naive now, but at no point had she anticipated these mixed feelings. On the one hand, she feels so out of her depth with the baby, constantly on edge, fearful of making some horrible, irreversible mistake. But on the other, the idea of not being there, of missing out on any of the short precious time Sarah will be a baby, leaves her with a lump in her throat and a sick feeling in her stomach.

It’s just hormones, she tells herself. She’ll be more herself when the time actually comes. And from the secretive look on Will’s face, she can’t afford to put off her return any longer than planned.

God, it just never ends.

* * *

 

“So how was that?” Kurt asks, edging the car out of the parking garage and making a left toward their townhouse.

She leans her elbow on the edge of the car window, and settles her head on her hand. “Good. Everyone thinks she’s adorable,” she answers distractedly.

He snorts. “Obviously. So, you ready to go back?”

She cuts her eyes to him. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“What? Of course not. I just thought being at the office might...”

“Might what?” she snaps.

Startled, he glances at her quickly, then turns back to the road. He doesn’t answer.

“Sorry,” she says after a beat. “Just...sorry.”

The rest of the drive passes in silence.

* * *

 

Sitting cross-legged on the bed with pillows piled haphazardly around her, she holds Sarah to her breast, wincing as the baby latches. Almost five weeks and several visits with the lactation consultant later, breastfeeding isn’t getting any easier. Or any less painful, she thinks, swearing under her breath.

Breaking the baby’s latch with her finger the way the LC showed her, she takes her off and then when she opens wide to howl in protest, puts her back on, this time correctly so she’s only in mild pain rather than agony. Sighing in relief, she settles back against the pillows and closes her eyes.

“So. What’s wrong?”

She opens her eyes again to find Kurt leaning against the door frame.

She snorts, shaking her head. If only there was an easy answer to that question so they could work on fixing it. “I’m not good at this,” she says at last, choosing her most pressing worry.

He enters the bedroom and sits silently beside her on the bed.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Kurt,” she continues helplessly. “I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff every minute of every day, and if I make one wrong move, over she goes.”

He presses his lips together and nods. “Yep. Me too.”

She looks at him askance. “What? You do?”

“Sure. This is all new to me too.” He steals one of her pillows for behind his back, then stretches his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles

She stares. "Well, you certainly don't show it," she says after a moment.  
  
He shrugs. "I've been accused of being overly stoic."  
  
Laughing, she nudges his leg with hers. "It will get better, right? We’ll learn, get to know her. Relax?"  
  
"God, I hope so.” He drops a hand to her knee

Exhaling heavily, she blows her bangs from her forehead. “I just… I feel like I need more time to acclimate before I start leaving her every day to go to work.”

He traces his thumb over her kneecap. “So take it. And for the record, I’m in no hurry for you to go back to work. I support whatever you want to do, but I like having you here."

She nods silently, thinking. He’s right; there’s no reason why she can’t extend her leave another month or two. She knows herself well enough to know eventually she _will_ need more than this, but there’s no reason to rush it while the three of them are still learning their way around each other. But...

She sighs. “I think Will is up to something."  
  
His eyes narrow. "What?"  
  
"I don't know. Something about the way he was asking whether I was still coming back made me uneasy. Eli was supposed to warn me of anything untoward going on, but he's all but checked out of the firm now that Peter Florrick is gearing up for a run at governor, so... I don't know. It could be about New York again, or he could be planning to force me out, bring someone new in, or... who knows. Same old story, I guess."  
  
"You know," Kurt says cautiously. "You don't _have_ to go back at all."  
  
She laughs. "Both of us home all day indefinitely? We'd kill each other."  
  
He snorts. "True. But I meant you don't have to go back _there_. You could get another job. Or go out on your own. Whatever you want. You have options."  
  
She nods slowly. She hadn’t considered that, but it’s true. Options. Just the word eases some of her stress. “I don’t have to decide right now. I’m not due to go back for another month.”

“Nope.”

When she looks down again she finds Sarah has fallen asleep and that’s the best idea she’s heard all day. “In that case, I have time for a nap.”

* * *

 

**Seven months later**

The rocking chair faces the window, allowing Diane to look out over the shadowy acreage of the farm while Sarah nurses. She’s come to treasure these quiet late night moments with her daughter, particularly on weekends when she has nowhere to be in the morning.

It’s easy to forget during the rush of weekdays in the city, when feeding her baby too often becomes just another thing she has to do, how peaceful it can be when it’s just her and Sarah in a dark, quiet room. Sometimes she talks to her; tells her about her work, about all the things they’ll do one day, about her hopes for the world her daughter will grow up in. Other times she just sings.

Sarah looks up at her with wide blue eyes, stretching up a pudgy hand toward her mother’s hair. Diane flips it out of harm’s way and offers her finger instead. The baby grasps it and pulls it down to her face, eyes fluttering closed. After another minutes her latch relaxes and she’s asleep.

Carefully she stands and carries the baby to her crib, gently easing her down to the mattress, pausing to stroke her hand over her sparse, silky hair. Sarah whimpers when she stops, then quiets as she finds her thumb.

Diane steps back, watching her with her heart overflowing. Every day she grows and changes, learning more about her world, and every day she teaches her mother something new.

“Is she asleep?” Kurt asks in a voice barely above a whisper as he appears at her side. She nods and reaches out to take his hand, pulling him closer.

“Just put her back down,” she whispers. “Cross your fingers.”

“Come back to bed. She’ll sleep better without us hovering over her.”

She sighs. She knows he’s right. They all need their sleep. But she loves these quiet moments so much, it’s hard to let them go. She’s only eight months old and already it feels like her infancy is rushing away at breakneck speed. Soon enough she’ll give up her overnight feeding altogether.

Reluctantly she allows Kurt to lead her back to their bedroom. They settle back under the covers, entwining together by muscle memory, her legs here, his arms there, a quick kiss, eyes closing. In moments, she’s asleep.

* * *

 

For the first time in eight months, she surfaces from sleep gradually, a pleasant dream slowly losing its hold on her, leaving her with only vague impressions of love and a feeling of warmth that goes down to her toes.

When she finally opens her eyes, she finds Kurt propped on one elbow, watching her.

“Good morning,” he says, leaning down and kissing her softly.

“Good morning,” she repeats, curving her hand around the back of his neck and kissing him back. “What time is it?”

“Almost 8:00.”

She processes that for a second, then gasps, pushing him back as she struggles to sit up. “The baby!”

He takes her hand. “Shh, shh. She’s fine. Fast asleep, I just checked on her.”

She blinks, searching his face for any reason to be concerned, but finding only calm amusement. “But it’s been almost seven hours! Are you sure she’s…” She trails off, unable to even complete the thought.

He chuckles. “Breathing? Yes. I checked.”

Falling back against the pillow, her heartbeat slowly returns to normal. “I can’t believe she’s still asleep,” she says after a minute, dropping her voice to a whisper just in case. “She’s never slept this long. What if she’s sick?”

“Or,” he suggests, “She’s just tired. Growing is hard work, you know.” Carefully he reaches down and slides his fingers through her hair, moving it away from her face, then trailing down her shoulder.

She shivers, then laughs at herself, lips pressed tightly together.

He looks at her questioningly and she answers by wrapping her arm around his neck, pulling him down on top of her and kissing him soundly.

“I adore you,” she says after a moment. “My voice of reason. What would I do without you?”

He slides a hand up her side. “If it’s up to me,” he growls, “you’ll never find out.”

She pushes on his chest until he rolls over, then straddles his hips, leaning with her elbows on either side of his head staring into his eyes. He grasps her waist and pushes up against her, sending sparks of desire trailing up and down her spine.

God, she loves him.

“We should get married,” she says impulsively.

* * *

 

**Five years later**

Diane ends her call and sets her phone down on the desk, turning to look out her window at the expansive Chicago skyline. Henry Rindell has been arrested abroad and is being extradited to stand trial on fraud charges. She should be sad, maybe, that this is what’s become of a man she once considered her best friend, but she isn’t. All she feels is anger for what he did to his family, to his investors, to her. Thank god her accountant had convinced her to diversify her holdings after Sarah was born. She could have lost so much more money than she did. Bad enough that the loss of professional reputation from her association with him had jeopardized the small boutique firm she started four years prior. She’s eternally grateful to Adrian Boseman for seeing her worth despite that, and proposing a merger.

The past year has been one of the most rewarding of her entire career, so she supposes it’s time to put her anger towards Henry behind her. He can’t hurt anyone anymore.

“Hey,” Diane turns around to find her newest partner watching her from the doorway of her office. “Want to grab a drink?”

She shakes her head, regretfully. “Sorry,” she says, “I can’t tonight. I have to pick up Sarah in the country, in…” She glances at her watch. “Oh! Now. Kurt has a class tonight.” She closes her laptop and stands.

From the doorway, Liz Reddick shrugs. “Okay, another time.”

“Count on it.” She doesn’t know Liz very well yet, but she’s hoping to change that. Another woman trying to balance a busy and rewarding professional life with motherhood is a welcome addition as both a colleague and, hopefully, a friend.

Gathering up her belongings, she rushes out the door.

* * *

 

Parking the car in front of the barn, she gets out and walks carefully on her high heels across the gravel to the big open doors, peering into the gloom inside.

She finds Kurt there, bent over his tackle box, two fishing rods leaning against the work bench beside him, one full size, one in miniature. Sun streams in through the high back windows, glinting off his silver hair.

“Hey,” she greets him. “Is she ready?”

He looks up. “Hey. Yeah, we just got back from the stream. She’s around back. How was your day?”

“Okay,” she says with a shrug. “Nothing important. And you?”

Together they walk out of the barn and around to the wide expanse of grass behind it. A large wooden playset with swings, a slide and an elaborate playhouse stands in the middle of it.

“Had a strange call,” he says as they approach the playset. “Will Gardner. Wants me to look at a case.”

“Really?’ she says, intrigued. She hadn’t heard Will was back in Chicago. When she decided to sever their partnership after Sarah’s birth, he had lured Julius back to town with the promise of a name partnership if they switched offices, and he was finally able to make the move to New York he’d been wanting. She wonders how Julius feels about him being back. If he’s not happy about it, he would make a great addition at Reddick Boseman & Lockhart. “Did he forget you don’t do that anymore?”

“That’s what I told him, but…’ he trails off, shrugging noncommittally.

“But she’s starting school soon,” Diane finishes the thought. “You should meet with him.” Their eyes meet and hold for a long moment, until he looks away. He’ll think about it. She hears the answer as clearly as if he had voiced it.

“Sass!” he calls to their daughter who is picking dandelions along the edge of the lawn. “Sassy, Mom’s here.”

Sarah drops the weeds and comes running, long dark curls blowing behind her. “Mommy!” Diane crouches down and catches her in a tight embrace.

“Tell Mommy what we did today,” Kurt prompts.

“We caught two fish!” Sarah backs away and then pats her mother’s cheeks with dandelion scented hands.

“Two fish!” she exclaims. “Wow! I guess I know what we’re having for dinner then.”

Sarah laughs uproariously, as if that’s the funniest idea ever. “Silly Mommy. We can’t eat the fish!”

“She insisted we let them go,” Kurt tells her, sotto voce.

Diane presses her lips together tightly, trying not to laugh. “So...food chain?” she asks as she straightens up, quite certain that lesson had been one of his goals for the expedition.

He clears his throat and glances off into the distance. “Saving that one for another day.”

“Uh-huh.” She gives in to the grin forcing its way onto her face. That little girl has him completely wrapped around her little finger.

“Mommy, Mommy, can I have a cookie after dinner?” Sarah jumps up and down in front of her, energy not even dented by the long walk to and from the stream in the woods behind the house.

“We’ll see,” she tells her. “Are you all ready to go to the city?”

Sarah puts a grimy finger to her lips, considering. “Ummm... Lovey!” she exclaims, referring to her favourite stuffed giraffe. They go nowhere without Lovey.

“Well, run and go find her,” she tells her daughter, who is already tearing toward the house. “And wash your hands,” she calls after her.

Turning back to Kurt she finds him watching her with a curious expression. “What?” she asks.

He gives her a half-smile and shakes his head. “Nothing, just thinking.”

“Oh? About what?”

“The day we met.”

The Broussard case. A visit from the Marlboro man. She remembers it as though it were yesterday, yet at the same time it feels like something that happened a million years ago, to a version of herself she doesn’t even know anymore.

She laughs. “I may have been a little condescending.”

He snorts. “A little?”

“Okay a lot, but _you_ were purposely winding me up.” She smirks, recalling the intermittent southern accent she now knows is a remnant of his youth in Arkansas that he can turn off and on at will. “I don’t like Chicago’?”

He shrugs. “I don’t.”

“And you tell all your potential clients that, right?” She takes a step closer and raises an eyebrow.

“Just the sexy ones who seem to get off on making fun of me.”

She smirks. “There is definitely something about you that makes me want to tease you.”

“Is that right?” He takes a step closer and leans down to whisper in her ear. “I like to tease you too.”

She wraps her arms around his neck, watching as the sun glints off the thick gold band on her left hand. “Did you ever imagine we would end up here, back then?”

“That day? Nah.” He moves his hands to her waist and leans down to kiss her. “My high hopes that day stopped at the bed in my hotel room. Took a bit longer for me to start wondering about anything like this. What about you?”

She laughs. “Never in a million years. But I think it worked out mostly pretty good.” She lets him draw her closer, opening her mouth to him as their arms tighten around each other. Four years of marriage hasn’t lessened her need for him at all. If anything, it’s grown as their connection has deepened with shared experience.  

They’re startled apart by a pair of small arms wrapping around their legs and attempting to hang from them like monkey bars.

“Hi,” the monkey says when she has their attention.

“Hi baby,” Diane says, stepping back from her husband, leaving with a look that promises more of the same later. “Let’s go get in the car. Say bye to Daddy.”

“Daddy, you can come with us,” the little girl wheedles. “Maybe we can have a cookieee.”

 He chuckles. “I have to go to work, Sass, but I’ll tuck you in when I get home.” He leans down and gives his daughter a hug, then straightens up and gives Diane a peck on the cheek and a discrete pat on the behind. “I’ll be home by nine.”

“Okay,” she says.  “Love you.”

He nods. “Me too.”

* * *

 

And their lives go on, much like that. Not always perfect, but mostly pretty good.

 

The End


End file.
